


Fools Rush In

by ChampagneSly



Series: Blue Tulip Verse [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pornstars, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denmark/Norway companion story to If It Wasn't for the Nights. Jens wants to convince his co-star Eirik that they would work just as well together off-screen as on, but Eirik has serious doubts and many very good reasons for thinking this would be a very bad idea. A relationship done in reverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As he watched Jens close his eyes and smack his lips obscenely and he bring a beer to his lips, Eirik knew, just knew, that today was not the day that his predictable co-star was going to spare him the indignity of having to listen to his lame joke for the thousandth time.   
  
“Aaaaahhhhhh, this tastes so good after a  _hard_  day’s work!” The idiot said with such relish that Eirik could not still his hand from smacking Jens in retribution.   
  
He ignored Jens’ yelp of surprise in favor of accepting Berwald’s grateful glance. Apparently he wasn’t the only who was tired of having the same ridiculous pun forced upon him after the completion of each shoot. He spared Berwald a moment’s pity, knowing that the Swede had been saddled with the idiot Dane for far longer than he had, suffering in silence for untold years.   
  
No wonder Berwald spoke as little as he did  (a quality that endeared him to Eirik’s quiet, cold, reservation). Who could get a word in edgewise when dealing with the constant stream of happy, stupid babble that fell from Jens’s admittedly pretty and not entirely useless mouth?   
  
Eirik felt his own lips pursing in irritation as Jens clung to the hand that just wreaked punishment for bad humor on the upside of his head and spouted some nonsense about “his Norway and never considering working with him anything but a pleasure.”   
  
As if that was the problem in this situation, as if Jens hadn’t already made his feelings on their shared scenes abundantly and aggravatingly obvious.   
  
No, the problem was that Jens never knew when to stop talking, to stop demanding, to stop being anything other than a cheerful, pushy idiot.   
  
He didn’t stop with the foolish, wheedling, insinuations and invitations to be more than just co-stars even after Eirk favored him with his frostiest brush-offs, nor when Eirik decided that Berwald’s bulk ought to be put to more use than wall-sex as an effective buffer between him and his would-be Danish paramour.   
  
Eirik was surprised when Berwald actually came to his defense, pointing out the obvious to his idiot friend, namely that anything “Norway” said while on-set and in character could in no way be considered representative of Eirik’s whims and wants.   
  
He wondered how it was possible for Jens to be so insistently willfully ignorant.  If he hadn’t been presented with clear evidence to the contrary, Eirik would have long assumed that Jens really was so empty headed that it didn’t hurt to continually throw himself into the same brick walls everyday.   
  
All Eirik knew for certain was that it was exhausting and infuriating, this little dance going nowhere that Jens insisted on dragging him into.   
  
He took one step back and Jens took two pushy steps towards him, constantly crowding into his space and his mind, a non-stop barrage of cloying touches and ridiculous insinuations.   
  
He retreated behind Berwald and lobbed insults and Jens reacted by asking if he wanted to leave the bar and go have a private repeat of the oral sex he’d been well compensated to perform on camera only four hours earlier.   
  
Naturally, even as his stomach churned in agitation and his temper flared, Eirik tamped it all down, summoning only scorn and dismissal as he informed his over-eager colleague that he failed to see the point in doing something for free that a daily item on his "to-do" list at work.   
  
Normally, this rebuke was enough to cool Jens’ ardor for the day, but much to Eirik’s chagrin and growing concern, it seemed that Jens was determined to push the envelop and his buttons this afternoon.   
  
“Ever think it might be cool to do it just for fun? Because you want to?” The idiot asked, jaw set stubbornly as he leaned across Berwald’s awkwardness to glare heatedly at Eirik.   
  
_"Because I want to?"_  Eirik scoffed to himself. Since when had that a damned thing to do with anything?   
  
All he had wanted was a drink. A cold beer after a hot fuck with vaguely tolerable company. And now here he was being backed into a corner by Jens and his irrepressible foolishness.   
  
He looked away for a moment, ignoring the uncalled for racing of his pulse, closing his heart to the obvious invitation in Jens’ eyes.   
  
“With you? Don’t hold your breath... _Denmark_ ,” Eirik drawled coldly, lacing "Denmark" with disdain, a deliberate brush-off that finally had the desired effect of shattering Jens’ nearly iron will, stupidly appealing smile tilting downwards into a disappointed, frustrated, frown.   
  
He was relieved when Jens gave up the fight for another day, skulking off with a pout for locations unknown, leaving him alone with his drink and Berwald’s silent, anxious company.   
  
Any hope Eirik had to finally ease his own tension with a little peace and quiet was dashed on the rocks of Jens’s lingering influence when Berwald cleared his throat and mumbled something about the recently departed idiot and his feelings for Eirik.   
  
Eirik swallowed a sigh, knowing that if dearly oblivious Berwald had managed to make an accurate read between the lines of Jens’ lewd offers and endless harassment, the situation was likely spiraling out of control.   
  
Idiot, idiot, Jens. Making everything difficult.   
  
He traced his fingers through the condensation on the bar, reigning his frustration and his confusion, spearing Berwald with a cool sideways glance, keeping his voice carefully neutral as he asked:   
  
“And this is my problem how?”   
  
Eirik had to choke back his mocking laughter at Berwald’s surprise and plaintive confusion when he mumbled, “So you know and don’t care?”     
  
_"How could I not know?"_  Eirik wondered in bitter silence.   
  
How impossible it would be to not be able to tell the difference between the touch of a disinterested co-worker performing their job and the feel of a lover’s kiss. He would have to have been the blindest of fools to not have seen the gradual change in Jens’ intentions, the shift from fascination and hot lust to something deeper and infinitely more dangerous.   
  
He had known from the exact second in which it was  _Denmark_  who came on his face, but  _Jens_  who stroked his fingers softly down his cheek and smiled at him like they were alone in a bedroom instead of a well-lit set.   
  
To his shock and horror, he had thought for a brief second about smiling in return.   
  
He kept his eyes on the bar, answering Berwald softly, trying to forget the honeyed temptation in Jens’ totally unscripted touch, “Of course I know. If there’s one thing that man lacks its subtlety.”   
  
“But its hardly relevant. I’m good at my job and that means being good at being with him. It could be anyone,” Eirik finished with resolute finality, ignoring the disapproval that flashed over Berwald’s grim face, the tiny flicker of expression giving away his concern for his silly friend.   
  
It annoyed Eirik endlessly that he was somehow responsible for dealing with Jens’ uncalled for and irritating compulsions. It was hardly his faulty that Jens was incapable of keeping the lines between professional and personal unmuddled and uncomplicated. He’d done nothing to invite this sudden desire for more than just highly profitable on-camera fucks.   
  
Which is why when Berwald dared to accuse him of not doing anything about Jens and his obnoxious infatuation, Eirik smiled coldly and informed his nosey colleague, “Do? What is there to do? No, I am going to continue on as always. I’m a professional, Berwald.”   
  
His irritation cooled as he observed the worry weighing down on Berwald’s shoulders, knowing that he had no more asked to be saddled with such a troublesome friend than he’d sought out Jens’ sloppy, eager affections.   
  
“Its going to cause problems.” Berwald informed him unnecessarily, stating something that had been obvious to Eirik for weeks.   
  
And yet, he was determined to keep Jens and his stupid warm smile from distracting him from that which was most important in his life, those responsibilities and goals that were the justification for every choice he made. He was certain that he could weather this impending storm, certain that if he just battened down enough hatches, he could outlast Hurricane Jens.   
  
It wasn’t his first time out to sea, after all.   
  
“For him maybe,” Eirik said quietly, trying to soften his rebuke just enough so as to keep Berwald at least somewhat on his side, appealing to his better sense as he explained, “I don’t believe in looking for love when we fake it all day long.”   
  
And that was true enough, Eirik thought as the words left his mouth, passing from his rational mind to Berwald's skeptical ear. He knew what it was  that made the Blue Tulip money, what lined his bank account with security and stability, what made him #2 on the Wank Roster.   
  
It was the allure of his mystery, the promise of fantasies waiting warm and wanting behind the distant coldness in his eyes.    
  
He knew that what kept people coming back to him, what made them so eager to pay their euros and enter their credit card number was whatever it was they imagined was hidden underneath the stillness of his gaze, the inscrutability of his face, the quietness of his moans and sighs...all a carefully crafted and honed contrast to the unrestrained wanting of his body when he performed.   
  
He wondered what it was the countless fans of his videos or his previous lovers or Jens believed was waiting for them behind the coldness and the distance...what fantasy of him they conjured in their hearts and loins, tailoring him just to their expectations.   
  
Doubtless they would be disappointed to learn there nothing grand and romantic flowing underneath his ice, merely the closely guarded thoughts of a man from Norway who had a plan that did not involve anything so mundane as love.   
  
Suddenly tired of watching the conflict of feeling play out over Berwald’s stern features, Eirik left him with a few bills and parting reminder that it was hardly worth the trouble of seeking affection in the world they inhabited, a world filled with feints of passion and choreographed pleasure.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was setting over the canals, the short hours of winter light already fading away when Eirik emerged from the bar, doing a quick mental calculation as he fingered the cell phone in his pocket, wondering if it was too late to call.   
  
“Damn it,” He cursed quietly, breath whispering out in the cool evening air, when he realized that this time seven hours difference was not working in his favor. Of all the times to not be able to call....even if he knew he probably wouldn't mind if Eirik woke him...   
  
Still unsettled by Jens' insistence and Berwald's well-meaning disapproval, Eirik wanted the sound of his brother's voice in his ear, reminding him of all his reasons "why", rebuilding his resolve and returning him to himself.   
  
Tonight, it seemed, Eirik was going to have to go it alone, without his brother's much needed  cool composure to calm the foolish thoughts that he'd caught from that idiot Jens.   
  
Treacly or not, Eirik could not deny that even he had a most important person.   
  
Eirik was not a sentimental man. He didn't indulge in the sort of wild passions that drove Jens, nor the brooding emotionality that seemed to linger under Berwald's grunts and glares. There wasn't much that moved him to action, that stirred the low-burning fires in his gut to flame bright enough to melt his rationality. He could count the number of people he felt genuine affection for on one hand.   
  
But if he looked at that handful of people, Eirik knew the middle finger would be the person who compelled the greatest well of feeling within him (love, annoyance, loyalty, and responsibility tangled in a great knot), the sole relation he had left in this world, his younger brother, Aron.   
  
Aron, who had the same cold, wide eyes and mysterious stare. Aron, who had been born in the midst of the one frigid winter their family spent in Reykjavik, a screaming curiosity in the long, dark, nights. Aron, who was five years younger, who could barely remember the faces of their long departed parents, who remembered instead the years of separation before they found a foster family that would take them both together. Aron, who took years to warm once again to his big brother (as much as either of them ever warmed to anyone). Aron, who was bright and passionate, despite his quiet, unassuming personality, who called forth the strange protectiveness and reluctant affection in his elder brother.   
  
Aron, who on the day that Eirik turned eighteen and was sent to make his own way in the world, told Eirik, mumbling and scowling as any self-respecting teenager should, that it didn't matter if he and Eirik couldn't live together for the time being because, “Eirik was the home where his heart truly was.”   
  
The little bastard had sealed their fates that day with those whispered words of endearment, even if he would to this day deny that he ever had any intention of wanting Eirik to make it his duty to take provide for his little brother for as long as he needed provision.   
  
And so when Aron showed up four years later, teetering on the edge of adulthood at seventeen, and told his elder brother that he had been accepted to study in some prestigious program at Hong Kong University, quoting statistics and reasons and reciting the course bulletin (even though Eirik knew Aron well enough to suspect that his precious little brother just wanted to be as far away from Oslo as possible), Eirik knew this was one thing he could for Aron.   
  
He could make this one wish come true.   
  
Aron had never asked him for anything and even then all he had wanted was permission, permission to run away somewhere warm and entirely new for four years, not asking for support or help, only for Eirik to say “yes.”   
  
And so he did. He said yes to Aron, shrugging his shoulders as if he'd never been asked such a boring question in his life, a smile ghosting across his face when Aron squeezed his hand and said,  _“thank you, Brother.”_   
  
The next day he had picked up the business card a handsome and charming man had handed him as Eirik had handed him a cup of coffee in an Oslo cafe, telling Eirik that he had that "je ne sais quoi" that could make him quite the living should he ever have the desire. He picked up that card etched with a tiny blue tulip and the name “Francis Bonnefoy” and without a second thought or moment of hesitation and said "yes" to him too.   
  
There was no great dramatic reason for his foray into the adult film industry. Eirik needed money that could be made quickly and with relative ease to finance the exorbitant cost of his little brother's international dreams. He had few qualms about sex and was not above putting his mysterious allure to work for him. If the Blue Tulip was paying, he was selling.   
  
Eirik planned to make as much porn as was necessary to support Aron through each day he remained a student a HKU. And then on the day Aron graduated (at the top of his class, damn him, Eirik wasn't getting done hard for nothing), Eirik was going to walk away as easily as he had walked into the studios in Amsterdam on a bright clear day andbeen christened,  _Norway_ .   
  
That had been the plan. Get in, get naked, get fucked, and go home with enough money to pay his rent and float his brother's expenses, with little fuss or muss. It was supposed to be easy, uncomplicated work that used all his assets to their best advantage and demanded little else. No hideous business meetings or power lunches or golf outings. No responsibilities or claims on his loyalty besides moaning like a whore and showing off his strong Norwegian heritage.   
  
He should have known from the obvious spark of lust and interest in Jens' wild-eyed stare that his plan had been shot to shit on his very first day.   
  
Oh, sure, it had been tolerable at the beginning, even if this “Denmark,” so called “King of the Wankers” had taken it upon himself to hound Eirik into snapping fits of cold irritation, following him around and watching those initial movies he made with Germany and Turkey with far, far, far too much predatory curiosity.   
  
It had been fine up until the moment that frothy French lush paired him with Denmark and proceeded to tease and taunt them both into a set-shaking, tear-down fuck more explosive than anything he'd experienced before, shattering even his legendary control.   
  
And their star had been born.   
  
_Denmark Does Norway_ , the Blue Tulip's #1, most profitable series, making it impossible for Eirik to escape from the warmth of Jens' touch or the magnetism of his intensity, because, according to Francis, “there was no one else for Denmark but Norway.”   
  
From there it had been a slow downward spiral into his current quagmire that was making his stomach curdle and his headache.   
  
Idiot Jens, ruining all his plans, knocking over his neat little apple cart with his careless hands and feelings.   
  
“What a fucking joke,” Eirik thought derisively as he opened the door to his apartment, still prickling with irritation and anxiety, cursing Francis for having put him in this position of fending off Jens' advances, “How the hell I am supposed to do my work well when my work wants to follow me home?"


	3. Denmark does Norway (Interlude of Smut)

"I'm so fucking looking forward to meeting you in the flesh,  _Norway_ ," an already familiar voice purred obnoxiously in Eirik's ear as he attempted to settle down and look casual on the Blue Tulip's signature blue couch.   
  
The sound of his stage name rolling off of Jens' idiot tongue was enough to set his teeth on edge, nerves already strained to the breaking point after months of this ridiculous back and forth he for some reason tolerated with the Blue Tulip's resident village idiot.   
  
"I can't believe I finally get to know you...in the Biblical sense," Jens breathed hotly into his ear and Eirik could almost taste the smirk he knew was plastered across his soon to be co-star's face, so satisfied to have his whims indulged by the masters that ruled their fates and their bank accounts.   
  
Eirik ignored him, even as his stomach turned over with what he was sure was revulsion, not anticipation, refusing to acknowledge the hot lust in Jens' stare, denying the fact that he was halfway hard before Francis had even given a single direction.   
  
Jens only chuckled and pressed his forehead into the warm curve of Eirik's neck, lips skating over the telltale flush spreading from cheek to chest as he murmured, "When you shout my name, make sure it's Denmark, babe."   
  
Eirik shivered, shooting Jens a wicked glare in the hopes that he would believe the sudden quiver was born of irritation and not arousal, crossing his arms over his pounding heart as he replied scathingly, "Presumptuous fool."   
  
Rather than pay attention to Jens's delighted laughter when he broke away to strut across the set, Eirik cast his gaze around the room, annoyed to find that Francis looked calculatingly eager, and worse, he seemed to have an audience as he recognized several of his co-workers lingering around the edge of the set.   
  
"Don't worry about them," Jens called over his shoulder with a wink, much to Eirik's dislike, before striding back over to whisper dirtily, "I want you to think about me and me alone. Fuck everyone else."   
  
Eirik was horrified to find his eyes sliding half closed, his lips curling up into a smirk, voice teetering into something flirtatious as he purred, "And here I thought I was only supposed to fuck you. I didn't sign on for a gang bang."   
  
Jens' answering laugh was dark and appreciative, burnished over Eirik's still parted lips as he whispered, "Mmm, sexy and funny. You're just my type, Norge."   
  
Before Eirik had a chance to protest the intimacy of the name or the sudden closeness, there was another mouth sliding over his, hot and gentle, a quiet little touch of lips to lips that spoke of temptation and promise.   
  
His head fell back against the couch and without his permission his legs fell open, Jens flowing quick and swift like  water in a canals to stand between them, knees rubbing against the inside of his thighs as Jens held his jaw between his warm palms and kissed him more deeply. For a moment Eirik forgot that he was under stage lights and wearing no underwear and that his name was supposed to be Norway and that the tongue tracing dangerous patterns over his belonged to an idiot otherwise known as Jens.   
  
It was unforgivable that such a fool be such an excellent kisser; a crime against his better judgment that he was responding to the precise, expert passion in Jens' kiss, his palms going slick with wanting, dick going hard with lust, mind stuttering and breath catching.   
  
The sound of Francis' amused little throat clearings tore him away from the kiss, his eyes wide and heart thundering in his ears as Denmark peered down at him, winking again and pressing in just close enough so Eirik could feel the weight of his cock against his hip.   
  
"I'm afraid you're getting ahead of the script, my darling Denmark," Francis sing-songed from behind the camera and much to Eirik's simultaneous irritation and pleasure, Jens smiled at him and touched a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before turning around to pull his shirt over his head and answer irreverently:   
  
"Fuck the script. Norge and I can take it from here!"   
  
Francis laughed and clapped his hands while the assembled gawkers twittered in shock and awe, giving Eirik little time to decide how best to react to such ridiculousness before Jens turned back to him, gripping his wrists as he dragged him bodily from the couch to rest within the firmness of his embrace.   
  
"Let's show these amateurs how's it done, hmmm, Norge?" Jens purred obscenely as Eirik struggled to regain his footing, uninterested in so quickly losing the upper-hand to this pushy, demanding Dane who thought he knew better.   
  
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Eirik tamped down everything but the feeling of the lust sparking in his blood, dredging up every ounce of mystery and longing, letting the lust and yearning flood his veins as Norway emerged, cool and collected, spreading his bare feet on the floor and twining his arms around Denmark's neck.   
  
"Are you sure you're ready for the Big Leagues, Denmark?" Norway asked, voice deep and calm as a frozen lake as he nipped at Denmark's chin and ran one foot up the side of his leg.   
  
Denmark's smile turned wicked, eyes burning with hot approval while his hands fisted in Norway's hair, titling his head so far back that Norway was left bent backwards, glaring up tauntingly and refusing his surrender as Denmark kissed him fiercely, trying to compel his submission.   
  
Norway retaliated with nails scoring down Denmark's bare chest, circling and pinching his nipples until Denmark arched into his touch, hips angling against his so their cocks rubbed together while they kissed and kissed, neither giving ground to the other.   
  
Denmark upped the ante by sliding one hand down the back of his pants, hotly palming the expanse of his ass cheek, groaning appreciatively into his mouth when Norway sighed and rolled his hips so the fingers splayed over his skin shifted between his legs. Norway smirked into their kiss, refusing to gyield even as Denmark tightened the hold he had on his hair and used his height to shuffle them towards the couch.   
  
Denmark broke away, eyes never leaving Norway's swollen lips and flushed cheeks, to growl breathlessly, "You are the finest piece of ass I've ever conquered."   
  
Norway mocked him with an angry bite to the neck, breaking all of the Blue Tulip's rules by leaving an unscripted mark, licking the reddened skin as he leaned up just enough so Denmark's hand slid out of his pants and to whisper with vicious amusement, "I hope your dick is better than your lines, idiot Denmark."   
  
Denmark laughed lowly against his hair for a brief moment, headed tilting to the side as he shrugged his shoulders and smiled brilliantly, giving Norway no warning that he was about to be taken between two strong and insistent hands and thrust backwards onto the couch.   
  
By the time he had settled himself against the cushions, Denmark was already upon him, pants undone and cock out, hard and flushed and wanting, as he stood in front of Norway with his hands on his hips and one eyebrow cocked in obvious challenge. Norway slid down, dragging his shirt off as he went, tossing it to the side and running his hands over his chest, leaving them to rest teasingly over his own hardness, holding Denmark's heated, interested gaze all the while.   
  
He didn't even hear the impressed whistle from the growing crowd as he let his eyes fall to Denmark's cock, blinking slowly, once, twice, three times before sighing and letting his tongue wet his lips, enjoying Denmark's answering smirk and the hot glint of anticipation in his heavy stare.   
  
When Denmark's hands came to rest on either side of his face, Norway unzipped his own pants and parted his lips, letting his cock fall free as he touched his tongue to Denmark's hot skin, tracing just the tip over the head, using his hands to pull down his co-star's pants entirely, wanting to be free to touch anything and everything.   
  
Denmark groaned his approval, pushing his dick between Norway's lips, determining the filthy slide of his cock over Norway's tongue with the hands on the side of his head, hips moving in time with the fleeting touches of Norway's long fingers over his length and across his balls, never faltering, not even when Norway upped the ante and opened his throat, pulling Denmark so far inside he knew his voice was going to be scratchy for hours afterwards.   
  
He could hear Denmark murmuring his approval, ridiculous nonsense spilling from his lips as Norway sucked his cock and licked hot trails between his legs. He could feel the unnecessary affection in the hands stroking his hair, deviating from  _his_  script, and so Norway ran his teeth lightly over the hardness pushing into his mouth, forcibly bringing Denmark back to the game they were playing.   
  
It did the trick, as Denmark pulled away with a growl, cock falling wet and proud from Norway's lips, as he smirked knowingly and once again dragged Norway to his feet to kiss him fiercely, sparing him no gentleness in an embrace thrumming with lust and possession.   
  
Before he had time to plot his next move, Denmark turned him around and pushed him face down onto the backrest of the couch, hooking his thumbs into his already loosened pants, dragging them off as he ran his tongue down his back, biting at the curve of his ass as Norway stepped free of his clothing. His cocked jumped in time with the racing of his pulse when he felt two hands spread him ever so slightly, cheeks flushing against his will at the sound of Denmark's appreciative grunt and the illicit feel of Denmark's lips pressing against him, soft and warm and far too close, making his eyes close and his control dissipate entirely.   
  
He could feel Denmark's hot breath skating over his skin, coming in short pants as he kissed his way up to the the sweat dampened edges of his hair, fingers teasing between his legs, discovering the his ready slickness. Norway was surprised by the Denmark's unexpected murmur of disappointment as he pushed his thumb inside easily, shivering when he leaned in, pressing in another inside, hard cock brushing insistently against his thigh as he murmured, "Naughty, naughty, Norge. Next time, I want to do it all. No more prep work for you, my little beast."   
  
Norway opened his mouth to retaliate, only to have the words shift into an embarrassingly unrestrained and guttural moan of pleasure when Denmark slid inside, heavy and full and welcome. His felt his head fall back to rest on Denmark's shoulder, the parting of his lips begging for Denmark's kiss as they began to move together, hard and fast, as if they'd always known the rhythm and the wants of the other.   
  
The button of Denmark's jeans was pressing into his leg and the fabric of the couch was rubbing his knees raw as Denmark bent over against his back and thrust sharply, making his mouth go slack with pleasure. He barely registered the hooting and hollering from the crowd when Denmark pulled out, making him want to growl in frustration, only to find himself dragged down from the couch to be spread out over Denmark's now totally naked lap.   
  
Catching his lip between his teeth and looking over his shoulde to favor Denmark with his most beguiling gaze, Norway pushed his knees over Denmark's thighs, pulling his hands around his waist, pressing their skin together, back to chest as he took Denmark back inside with a low, keening, sigh. He felt Denmark's answering groan in the rumble against his throat as his partner nipped and sucked at the curve of his neck and shoulder while Norway rolled his hips up and down, relishing the burn in his thighs and his ass as Denmark fucked him.   
  
Norway's lips tipped into a smile as he clenched his thighs and Denmark cursed, hands grasping tightly as his hips, moving him ever faster and harder over his cock, making him mindless with pleasure each time he angled just so, sending sparks of need over his skin. And when he reached down to take his dick in hand, wanting relief from the hot lust coiling around all his senses, Denmark moved them again, tilting Norway forward onto to his knees without breaking the push-pull of his thrusts.   
  
One hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him as Denmark wrapped the other around his chest, supporting him almost entirely as he continued to fuck him relentlessly, filling his thoughts with the sound of skin sliding against skin and the feeling of being unbearably aroused, each touch driving him towards orgasm.   
  
And when Denmark brushed one thumb over his nipple and the other over the head of his cock, biting down on the chord of his shoulder, Norway gave up the fight, letting the waves of his desire crest, spilling out over Denmark's fingers as he sighed and shuddered and slumped in Denmark's arms.   
  
Without protest he let himself be pushed onto his back, smiling with wanton satiation as Denmark  stripped off the condom, straddled his hips and stroked himself with fingers slicked by Norway. He watched as Denmark's eyes fell shut, running his fingers up the hot, damp skin of Denmark's thighs and moaned when Denmark came over his chest, opening his mouth to welcome Denmark's messy, breathy kiss of satisfaction.   
  
When Denmark's hands finally finished shaking, Norway broke their kiss, hiding his burning face in the safe warmth of Denmark's shoulder, holding him close until the illusion was utterly shattered by the cacophony of whistles and shouts and Francis's slow applause.   
  
"Mon Dieu! I guess that's a wrap, my naughty little Nordics!" Francis chortled with delight as Norway closed his eyes and tried to regain his sense of self, still riding the tides of bliss.   
  
Reality quickly overran the lingering feelings of pleasure as Eirik shoved Jens away, rubbing a thumb over his lips as if to erase the memory of his kiss, staring blankly at their crowd of admirers, trying to pretend that he had no idea what was worth making such a ruckus over.   
  
He skittered away from the reach of Jens' hand, ignoring the curious narrowing of Jens' eyes, irritated that he'd let himself lose control so entirely. And when he stood up and met Francis' shrewd and calculating stare, he felt more tired and wary than he had in years.   
  
"Well, I think we've got a bestseller on our hands, boys and boys!" Francis informed the assembled crowd, resulting in a renewed hollering and applause.   
  
Without warning, Eirik felt himself being pulled back down to the floor, tumbling gracelessly across Jens' broad chest and coming face to face with his happy, lewd smile.   
  
"I don't know about you, Norge, but I can't wait for the sequel."   
  
Exhausted and embarrassed, Eirik let his head rest over Jens' still racing heart, pinching his side as he mumbled, "For God's sake, you great idiot, don't call me that."   
  
"But you'll always be my Norway."   
  
Eirik closed his eyes and answered serenely, "I'll never be your anything."


	4. Chapter 4

Eirik spent the remainder of his weekend holed up in his apartment, ignoring all signs of life beyond his front door, thinking about Jens and Berwald and Aron and what an unbelievable clusterfuck his supposedly simple life had become. Though he had told Berwald he intended to do nothing about Jens’ little infatuation, (namely openly acknowledge it in any way, shape, or form), Eirik was not so blind as to assume that he could get away with doing nothing at all, as there were already others, others far more critical than a gruff Swede, who had an inkling that something was amiss between the Tulip’s top twosome.   
  
The previous two installments of Denmark Does Norway: The Oslo Orgies had barely cracked the top ten for weekly sales, and Eirik was in no way ignorant of the Francis’ puzzled frown and the Boss’ snarling grimace as they reviewed the subscription numbers. He knew it was only a matter of time and loss of money before something was going to go amiss. Their Dutch overlord did not take kindly to threats to his bottom line and showed little compunction in turning the house over if he thought it would be better for business, damn the rest of them to pornstar Purgatory.   
  
He spent the long, silent hours of Saturday and Sunday ruminating over his predicament, looking into the bottom of a beer bottle for inspiration, turning off his phone and closing his heart to Jens’ drunk messages asking him if he’d ever been with _“that bastard Berwald”_  and that  _“everyone knew Norway belonged with Denmark and never Sweden.”_   
  
In the instant that he realized he’d been tempted to text back that Norway preferred to have a choice in such a matter and that perhaps Norway wanted most of all to be left the fuck alone, Eirik realized he’d fallen so deep into the Blue Tulip trap that he could no longer separate Norway from Eirik and Denmark from Jens. That was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to become attached, to become involved!   
  
He blamed Aron. He blamed Jens. And he blamed Berwald for forcing him to have to think enough to blame anyone at all.   
  
Following that little revelation, the stress ball that Francis had given him as a joke his first Christmas at the Blue Tulip suffered extensive abuse .The quantity of beer dwindled significantly as Saturday trickled into Sunday, the remaining hours before his Monday morning scene with Denmark disappearing with alarming speed. He even fell back upon his one tried and true method for reviving his spirit and his resolve: reviewing Aron’s latest grade reports and browsing the happy pictures of his life posted on Facebook, while thinking wistfully his future. He would buy a house in a small fishing village back home, in a place where no one would know him as anything other than Eirik, where he could spend his hours at sea or writing or just being blessedly alone knowing that Aron was safe and happy somewhere in the world.   
  
It didn’t help. Somehow these placid daydreams felt empty and dreary, as though he’d now come to want something more than peace and isolation, and it drove him to frustrated distraction trying to understand why.   
  
By the time Monday rolled around, Eirik was a tense, sullen thundercloud of displeasure as he walked into the Blue Tulip, ignoring the happy greetings of Feliciano and Feliks as he stormed to his dressing room in search of some solace before he tried to become Denmark’s Norway once again. He needed to get his head back into the game, vowing that even if Jens was too foolish and inexperienced to keep his personal feelings from bleeding into their scenes, Eirik would once again become the consummate professional, no longer letting his wariness of Jens’ misplaced affection affect his work.   
  
He could do this. He  _had_  to do this.   
  
He was temporarily distracted by the raw footage of Sweden fucking the living daylights out of Poland playing out over one of the monitors in the hallway. He cocked his head and felt his eyes widen with begrudging respect as Sweden flipped Poland over like he weighed nothing and pile-drove him into the bed.   
  
Clearly, something or someone had gotten into Berwald over the weekend, Eirik thought with vague amusement, knowing that Jens was unlikely to take this unexpected challenge to his position as top-top with any degree of equanimity. His amusement faded abruptly as he realized there was nothing funny about this sudden resurgence of Sweden and the waning star of Denmark-Norway, knowing that there was no way this boded well for a calm, uncomplicated future at the Tulip for any of them.   
  
His unhappy thoughts were interrupted by an unwelcome voice in his ear and a far too familiar arm wrapping around his shoulders, the feel of Jens’ fingers tracing idle patters on his arm pulling him back to reality.   
  
“Ugh, are you watching Berwald bone? Do you actually like this travesty?” Jens scoffed, bumping their hips together as he leaned forward to frown at the image of Sweden bent over Poland, “C’mon, enough of this shit, I won’t be able to get it up if I have to watch another minute of this.”   
  
“Idiot,” Eirik said almost reflexively, trying to wriggle out of Jens’ hold, scoffing, “Did you want something or did you just come over here to comment on my taste in pornography?”   
  
Jens bared his teeth at him, dragging him off towards his dressing room as he grumbled, “Don’t even joke about that. I’ll start to think you like Berwald better than me and I’ll get jealous.”   
  
Eirik frowned, wrenching away from Jens to march into his room, irritated that Jens was no longer even attempting to disguise his intentions, robbing him of the familiar comfort of blithely faked ignorance and disdain. It seemed that Jens’ recklessness was going to call the matter into question far sooner than Eirik would have liked.   
  
(He would have preferred  _never_ , but such foolish hopes were impossible when dealing with a force of nature like Jens. He wondered if Jens would have been quite so eager with his overtures if he suspected that the answer to his question was always going to be no.)   
  
“Spare me your stupidity and tell me why you’re here wasting my time and patience,” Eirik spat as he sat down on his couch to review the day’s script, relieved to find it was a standard blow-job/sex/facial scene, not feeling up to the bells and whistles of some of their other more adventurous features.   
  
He felt his blood spark with annoyance when Jens pulled the script from his hands, smiling sunnily at him as he winked and said, “I thought we could get ready together!”   
  
Eirik stilled, cheeks warming as he considered Jens’ suggestion, settling back as he peered up coolly at Jens’s open, happy, grin inviting him to take him up on his offer. It was a dangerously tempting proposal, for when Jens said “get ready,” he wasn’t just asking if they could get into costume and make-up together.   
  
No, ever since that first scene, when Denmark had told Norway that “he wanted to do it all,” Jens had showed up twenty minutes before call time ready and eager to act as his personal fluffer. And for whatever reason, Eirik had allowed it, had allowed him into his dressing room to kiss him breathless, make him desperately hard and wet and stretched before they tumbled out on to the set ready and raring to go, barely able to keep their hands to themselves.   
  
But when Jens started to touch him with more than lust and his kisses started turning soft and intimate, making Eirik feel as though the walls of his dressing room were narrowing in around him, trying to trap him forever in the greedy clasp of Jens’ hands, he knew it was time to pull the plug on their little charge up session. And so, for the past two shoots, he’d turned him down flat, offering no explanation as he ignored Jens offended pout, not wanting to do anything sexual with Jens that wasn’t for the camera, wary of Jens using their “prep” time as an opportunity to try to make it about them instead of about the work.   
  
If no one was watching when Jens kissed him and took his good sweet time readying him with his long fingers and , Eirik wondered, could he really claim in that moment to be only Norway?   
  
But it seemed his solution had backfired, making Jens even more determined on set and making him retreat so far into himself in an effort not to give a single iota of his own thoughts and feelings that their scenes had ended up falling flat, too much heat and too much cold, generating very little steam and even less revenue.   
  
And so with a sigh, Eirik nodded his agreement, tamping down the tiny frisson of anticipation that ran up his spine as Jens licked his smiling lips and started shedding his clothes with far too much enthusiasm. He wondered at the slicking of his palms, the queer sense of excitement pooling in his stomach as he pulled his shirt over his head and started unbuttoning his pants, wishing that he could deny that he had missed the pleasure of their kisses.   
  
There was no denying the spark between them, no way to ignore the way his body came alive under Denmark’s hands, no quieting the thrum of passion between them when they were on camera and in character.   
  
He just wished it wouldn’t translate quite so well off-camera and out of character, wishing Jens wouldn’t remind him quite so frequently of all they could be to each other.   
  
Eirik closed his eyes and tried to find cool, collected, uncaring Norway somewhere under the tide of his shifting desire and tumultuous feelings, relief flooding him as he slipped out of the chaos of his personal life into the safety of his professional persona.   
  
He could feel the heat of Denmark’s breath on his lips, rushing out over his skin, calling to him as Denmark straddled him on the couch, naked thighs bracketing his own, a half-hard cock sliding into his lap.   
  
“Norge,” Denmark purred and Norway parted his lips, ready for his onslaught, only to have the moment broken entirely by a rapping on the door that booked no refusal.   
  
“Fuck!” Jens cursed as Eirik huffed and shoved him off his lap to sprawl butt naked on the couch. He moved quickly to wrap a towel around his waist, chucking another at Jens’s scowling face as he tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed by the interruption.   
  
He opened the door with aggravated force, only to feel his heart sink as Francis swanned into the room, shaking his head at their state of undress, making little “tsk-tsk” sounds at Jens, who still sat naked and unabashed on the couch, glaring at the intruder.   
  
“Apologies, my lovelies, but whatever it is you were about to do, and don’t think that Big Brother Francis doesn’t know exactly what you were up to, it seems such things are unnecessary today!” Francis said with a lascivious smirk, though his eyes were worried, putting Eirik on edge.   
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jens groused, finally deigning to cover up when Eirik rolled his eyes at him and pointed at the abandoned towel.   
  
Francis hemmed and hawed for a moment, before finally sighing and spitting it out, “There will be no Denmark-Norway shoot today, I’m afraid.”   
  
Eirik bit his lip and looked at the ground while Jens spluttered with confusion and asked if it was being rescheduled.   
  
“Sorry, my delicious Dane, but the Boss has decided to shelve the series for the time being until he can think how to best maximize both of your talents. I disagreed, naturally, being your most loyal fan, but he seems to think the Denmark-Norway series has lost its spark, run its course,” Francis explained with uncharacteristic gentleness as both he and Eirik watched Jens’ reaction.   
  
“That’s bullshit!” Jens exploded, trying to keep his crestfallen expression hidden behind anger, “Norge and I are the most awesome!”   
  
Eirik put a hand on his wrist, shaking his head as he murmured lowly, “Let it go, Jens, this is business.”   
  
Jens opened his mouth as if to protest before shutting it firmly and stalking away, muttering about beating the shit out of mercenary Dutch bastards with shitty taste and no heart.   
  
With a sigh and one last glance over his shoulder and Jens’ tense form pacing in the corner, Eirik ushered Francis to the door.   
  
“I am sorry, Eirik,” Francis said contritely, “I did try to talk him out of it, but he’s more stubborn than Arthur when it comes to his business.”   
  
Eirik shrugged, knowing that the burden of this situation sat squarely on his shoulders and Jens’ lap, “No need to apologize. It’s fine with me.”   
  
If he had been able to ignore the fire in Jens’ eyes, if Jens had been able to just be Denmark, none of this would have happened…they could have kept on just as they were, making movies and money, neither falling prey to Jens’ stupid, destructive desire to make love.   
  
When the door shut, Jens was on him like a whirlwind, voice disbelieving as he shouted, “What do you mean it’s fine with you?”   
  
“What else would it mean but just that, you idiot?” Eirik answered scathingly, moving to collect his clothes from the floor, pushing past the clutch of Jens’ hands, “We’re contract employees that serve to fulfill the whims of our bosses, I’m hardly in a position to make an immature fuss because I’ve been demoted due to poor performance.”   
  
Jens stilled, suddenly apologetic, “Look, I’m sure this is my fault. I’ll talk to the Boss Man, promise that next time I’ll do you better. I’ll do better, period.”   
  
Eirik smiled at him faintly, bemused that Jens would take all the responsibility for himself, knowing that there was little chance their boss was going to yield to Jens’ entreaties that he continue to be granted access to all Norway’s territories.   
  
He didn’t have the heart to tell him that their run as the union of Denmark-Norway was likely over, feeling disappointment and a strange sense of relief curdling in his chest. Maybe now that they had no reason to touch, to kiss, to fuck, his allure would fade and Jens would move on to the next mysterious, wide-eyed man that walked into his life, leaving him blessedly alone.   
  
“If you feel like wasting your time over something so trivial, be my guest,” Eirik said as he slid on his pants, disregarding Jens’ huff of offense.   
  
He startled when he felt his chin cupped within a large, strong, palm, forcing him to meet Jens’ gaze.   
  
“I mean it, I’ll fix this for us,” Jens promised, voice urgent as he smiled down at Eirik’s blank stare.   
  
Eirik was about to remind him that there was no us for which to fix things when Jens started leaning down towards him, lips parted as if to deliver a kiss, making his heart pound wildly as he turned his chin sharply and pushed Jens away.   
  
“What are you doing, idiot?” Eirik hissed, touching his fingers to the pink in his cheeks, looking away from the thundering hurt in Jens’ eyes.   
  
“So it’s like that, huh?” Jens said as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.   
  
“It’s like nothing!” Eirik said as he tossed Jens’ pants and shirt at him with angry frustration, “There is no scene and there is no need!”   
  
Jens frowned at him as he caught his clothing, eyes burning as he insisted, “Always about need and practicality! It’s never want!”   
  
Now furious, Eirik’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he hissed, “You don’t know anything about what I need or want, and it’s none of your damned business because we are nothing to each other!”   
  
“Keep telling yourself that!” Jens said heatedly as he stalked towards the door.   
  
Eirik took a deep breath, voice cold enough to freeze the blood in Jens’ veins as he said, “We’re done here. Now, get out.”   
  
And as the door slammed shut, Eirik tried to will away the memory of Jens’ hurt smile and eagerness to make it all better for them, knowing that this was better—that it was better than they had nothing, not Denmark, not Norway, nothing that could make him feel this way, torn and tossed and incapable of rational thought, distracting him from what was truly important.   
  
With that, he picked up his phone and called Aron.


	5. Chapter 5

The phone rang, tinny and distant as it cleared the thousands of miles between Amsterdam and Hong Kong in an instant, calming the still burning anger and strange anxiety curled in Eirik’s chest, heart pounding in time with the thundering of Jens’ furious steps down the hall and away from him.   
  
And when his call was answered with a short, irritated, flat  _“Yes, what is it?”_ , Eirik felt a tiny piece of his much missed control return to him.   
  
“That’s no way to speak to your older brother,” Eirik returned silkily, enjoying the sound of Aron’s unimpressed huff.   
  
“How are you?”   
  
_“Busy. I can hardly sleep thanks to the exams they’ve piled on us.”_   
  
Eirik settled on the couch, closing his eyes and letting the familiar lilt of his brother’s voice wash over him, the repressed warmth of Aron’s annoyance settling over him like balm.   
  
This was a game he knew how to play. Besting his little sibling was one of his favorite past times, almost as comforting to him as perfecting his blankest of blank stares (that also seemed to double as his best come hither look, which worked out nicely for him).   
  
“Poor thing. Are you not up to the task? Does little brother need someone to hold his hand and make it all better?” He said with mocking gentleness, a tiny smile curling over his lips and in his heart when Aron steamed predictably, spewing hot quick invectives before settling back into disinterest.   
  
_“I refuse to take shit about my work ethic from a man who makes his living on his back,_ ” Aron shot back once he had stopped spluttering.   
  
Filled with pride by the quality of the slight, thrilled to see that college truly was improving Aron’s repertoire of cut-downs and comebacks, Eirik smirked and volleyed, “May I remind you that my back buys the clothes on your back?”   
  
He listened to the whistling of Aron’s mocking long-suffering sigh traversing the miles between them as if they were in the same room while Aron took the next step in their brotherly pas-de-deux,  _“You seldom fail to remind me. You really ought to get something new to hold over my head.”_   
  
Eirik laughed, already lightened immeasurably, the memory of Jens’ stupid hurt eyes fading as Aron continued to harangue him in bored tones.   
  
“Something new that isn’t my giving head to keep an expensive Hong Kong roof over your head?” Eirik said with relish, knowing that Aron tended to shy away from more explicit references to how his esteemed elder brother chose to spend his 9-5.   
  
To his surprise and slight disappointment, Aron took it in stride, not missing a beat as he asked, _“Better make it a doubleheader next time. I want to take summer courses and that’s extra tuition money. Do them proud for me, Brother._ ”   
  
“Slave driver,” Eirik muttered, tiny smile threatening to twitch into something larger until Aron inadvertently sucked all the wind out of his sails when he switched up their familiar rapport by asking:   
  
_“And how’s your favorite co-worker? Idiot-something-or-other?”_   
  
Eirk sat up, eyes narrowed threateningly, even though there was no way his brother could see the warning in his gaze across a phone line, trying to keep his voice disinterested as he murmured, “Idiot…you must be referring to Jens. He’s hardly my favorite anything. What would make you think to ask about him?”   
  
The sound of Aron’s delighted teasing laughter grated over his already sensitive nerves. He liked it even less when Aron practically crowed:   
  
_“You can’t lie to me, brother! You can hardly go two minutes in conversation without mentioning him. Even if it is almost always to complain about something he did to offend you. I’ve never heard you so bothered by anyone. I think I’d like to meet this Idiot Jens who can make you seem almost human.”_   
  
Horrified, Eirik felt his cheeks flush with the likely truth of the statement, flatly answering the accusation, “Jens is nothing more than a co-worker and there is no reason whatsoever for you to ever meet him.”   
  
When Aron just laughed at him, low and laced with rich amusement at his expense, Eirik threw down the last gauntlet he had, desperate to get away from the thought of his precious brother and his moronic colleague ever meeting and figuring out ways to further complicate his existence.   
  
“Well, if you’re that curious, you can always look him up online. Witness firsthand just  _how_  much I enjoy working with him,” Eirik purred nastily, gratified by the sudden stop of Aron’s laughter.   
  
_“Hmm, if you have to go so far to stop me as saying something as vile as that I think you’ve revealed more than you intended, Brother,”_  Aron said thoughtfully, making the taunt tripping off Eirik’s tongue fade into nothingness as he continued,  _“I only meant to tease, but I can tell this really upsets you.”_   
  
“It doesn’t. I assure you that there is nothing to be revealed nor anything upsetting to me in the least as far as Jens is concerned,” Eirik protested, the obvious lie tasting of ash in his mouth.   
  
He winced when Aron sighed for real, picturing the little moue of frustration that would crease his brother’s face as he said with resigned annoyance,  _“If you insist. But, listen, Eirik…you can always come to me if you want to talk. About anything.”_   
  
Softening, Eirik slumped back down on the couch, asking coolly, “The younger brother guiding the elder?”   
  
_“Stranger things have happened,”_  Aron returned gently.   
  
Indeed they have, Eirik thought wryly as the events of the afternoon unspooled in his mind; from the demise of Denmark-Norway, to Jens’ failed kiss, to his brother’s unforgivable perception…nothing at all had gone as he’d planned.   
  
Something was going to have to change. And he had a strong feeling it was going to have to be him.   
  
“Goodnight, Aron. I look forward to receiving your exam scores,” Eirik said quietly, effectively ending the conversation and quelling the sudden rushing desire he had to spill all his frustrations and fears to the one person he knew loved him unconditionally in this world.   
  
But he couldn’t (wouldn’t) do that. Aron had his life and his own burdens to carry without the addition of Eirik’s ridiculous problems with a foolish Dane who didn’t know what was good for him and who persisted in his impossible delusions that there was some kind of future between them that didn’t involve stage lighting and a crowd.   
  
He could feel Aron’s disappointment and hurt slide under his skin as Aron let out another long rush of air and bid him a quick and cold goodbye and ended the call.   
  
Eirik set the phone down on the couch, wondering if he could make it home without speaking to another human being so as to avoid going 3-for-3 in inadvertently causing pain.   
  
This was becoming intolerable. His stomach was in knots, he had blushed more in the past two hours than he had in five years, and his little brother was mad at him.   
  
And all because of Jens.   
  
Idiot, idiot, Jens and his idiot demands on Eirik’s attention.   
  
“Well,” Eirik thought as he collected his belongings and peered out into the hallway to ensure he could escape without encountering Berwald, Francis, Jos, or Jens, “there’s one way to put a stop to it. Tell him no, without insult, without hesitation, with nothing other than no.”   
  
He tried to ignore the way his fingers clenched around his bag and something in him curled up tight and close in his chest as he thought of those words leaving his lips…lips that would never touch Jens’ again.   
  
I just need more time to find the right words, Eirik told himself as he shrank into his coat, hiding his frown from the biting wind as he left the Blue Tulip behind.   
  
Next time, he promised himself, next time I see him, I will tell him no, once and for all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fools Rush In, Chapter 5**   
  
**From: francis@btstudios.nl  
To: n_eirik@btstudios.nl  
Subject: Release Party Perf. Planning**   
  
Cher Eirik-   
  
Apologies for not having had a chance to discuss this in person, but you have been strangely difficult to track down over the past two weeks. Neither Jens or Berwald seem to know where you’ve been hiding; I do hope you didn’t take the decision to temporarily discontinue the Denmark Does Norway line personally.   
  
Rest assured that Jos and I are actively discussing how best to employ your talents going forward. You are an asset to the studio and as I am sure you are fully aware the happiness of my stars is of paramount importance to me.   
  
If you have anything you should like to discuss, please do not hesitate to set-up a meeting to chat with either Jos or me.   
  
On to current business; I’ve scheduled the release of your shower-solo video for this coming Monday at Club Coq. I hope you are amenable to a brief “performance” to really give the launch some zing. I propose a snow-motif---perhaps Norway in white, give the crowd a little tease as we play scenes from the DVD on the big screens.   
  
I welcome your thoughts. Please do show your face around the office—we miss your sullen pout. Some of us more than others….   
  
~Francis   
  
**From: n_eirik@btstudios.nl  
To: francis@btstudios.nl  
Subject: Re: Release Party Performance Planning**   
  
Francis,   
  
I will attend the launch, as per my contractual obligations, but I decline the opportunity to participate in any stage performance.   
  
I’m perfectly cognizant of the business model of the Blue Tulip and consider myself professional enough not to take business decisions personally. I am amenable to any future engagements of my skills that will benefit the studio.   
  
I will be at the studios on Monday should you have anything you wish to discuss further in person.   
  
-Eirik   
  
Ps- I do not pout.   
  
  
Eirik shuddered as he hit send, hoping that his response to Francis had been emphatic enough in its refusal of a public display of ridiculousness. Launch parties were without doubt his most hated aspect of his job and just thinking of what asinine dog and pony show Francis would concoct for him made his stomach turn in revulsion. He remembered Berwald’s shame all too well.   
  
(He also remembered Jens’ shameless performance. He hadn’t even needed to be asked, simply jumping on stage and winking at Eirik before shedding his clothes and setting the club on fire. Jens, of course, took to such things like a duck to water, happily taunting the crowd with a slow strip tease, holding everyone’s attention and attraction in the palm of his hand like he was born to it.)   
  
Pacing the narrow confines of his apartment office, Eirik tried to not to read between the lines of Francis’ message, unable to ignore the poorly disguised rebuke for his unexplained absence from the studios for the past fortnight. He didn’t see why Francis had any reason to complain; since the demise of Denmark-Norway, his dance card of debauchery had been eerily empty, making his appearance at the office seem superfluous.   
  
There was certainly no reason to waste precious time and money commuting across half of Amsterdam to grace the hallways of the Tulip with his illustrious and uninterested presence. Avoiding Jens was a merely a secondary benefit.   
  
(Even though the idiot sent him text messages every day, irritating little reminders of the tangled knot they’d woven themselves into, tiny insinuations of Jens into the ordered quiet of his Blue Tulip free life that muddled his resolve each time he had settled on the right words to say that would bring their tango to an end once and for all.)   
  
He’d kept abreast of the comings-and-more comings of the Blue Tulip, checking the website each morning to see if any new pairings had been announced, only to find Sweden continuing on his surprising run of porn-star domination. First Poland, then Estonia, and even an unexpected scene with Germany, each surpassing the last in its potency and popularity as Sweden climbed to the top of the Blue Tulip totem pole, knocking Denmark and Norway from their long-held supremacy.   
  
That morning, after sending Francis his refusal, Eirik wondered how Jens was reacting to the loss of his long-held crown. The worry he felt so annoyed him that he promptly turned off his laptop and left Amsterdam for the weekend hoping to find clarity beyond the bustle and busyness of the city.   
  
He’d gone to the coast, and though the North Sea of a Dutch winter was only harsh gray slate, listening to the unceasing drag of the ocean over sand and under the whisper of wind was soothed the fever in his mind; the vast dull horizon reassuring him that this pain wedged beneath his ribs was fleeting and temporary, reminding him that in the sea that was his life, Jens need only be one turning of the tide.   
  
Eirik missed the majesty of the fjords, the silence and the solace of Norway’s forests and hills, none of which could be found in the flat expanse of the Netherlands, a country that held the ravages of the ocean at bay through tenacity, engineering, and an unnaturally tall population.   
  
As he sat in an empty restaurant by the sea, nursing a beer and staring at the ink of the sky meeting the gentle rolling of waves, he entertained himself with lonely thoughts of what he might miss in his temporary home when Aron graduated and Eirik freed himself from responsibility. He knew that Aron was unlikely to come home to Norway; that he felt tied to Eirik but not to the land, feeling more of an affinity with the tiny island of his birth than the country that had raised him. Aron, he knew, would wander, seeking a place that was his and his alone and Eirik would always keep a place for which to return for when his days grew long and weary.   
  
In all likelihood, Eirik knew he would go back to the land he loved alone, with memories of hot hands and smiling eyes, of stoic friendship, and the knowledge that though this had been only turn of the tide, it had been strong enough to change the shape of his coastline forever.   
  
His musings were interrupted by the one thing certain to disrupt any moment of calm he’d managed to achieve as his phone buzzed on the tabletop, waking him from daydreams of a quiet and solitary life by the sea with a serene mind and a placid heart.   
  
_From: Jens  
  
Where are you?_   
  
He eyed the phone warily, all too conscious of the sudden tripping of his heartbeat, tracing his finger over “reply” and “delete,” prevaricating as he had been for two weeks too many, unsure of how to break free.   
  
Jens absolved him of making a choice, as he so often did with his stubborn impatience and reckless disregard for rational thought, sending another message quick on the heels of the other, as if he had correctly guessed that giving Eirik too much time to think never worked in his favor.   
  
_From: Jens  
  
Heh, I know you’re not doing anything, wherever you are! Even more anti-social than B.  
  
Come over…we can practice our moves, get back into the groove so we can reunite Denmark-Norway, damn Francis and his opinion to hell!_   
  
Eirik’s response had been swift and merciless, even though his body rebelled against his mind with a low ache in his chest, his skin whispering that it had been far too long without touched. He had never been gladder for distance in his life.   
  
_From: Eirik  
  
No.  
  
Idiot._   
  
He couldn’t stop his lips from quirking when Jens responded with undaunted cheerfulness, staring at the sea and picturing the fondness that lit his eyes when Eirik savaged him with mockery. The only person who appreciated his biting wit more was Aron, who was too far away to look him in the face and laugh when he said something scathing, as if his coldness was nothing more than a balmy breeze.   
  
Fools, the both of them.   
  
_From: Jens  
  
So mean :( Hiding from work for two weeks and now forcing me to rely on Berwald for Friday night company._   
  
His amusement faded into irritation as Jens followed-up with another message that made his cheeks warm and his imagination curl up and purr, effectively rendering his precious sense of calm and resolve null and void.   
  
_From: Jens  
  
C’mon….you know you want to…I want to touch you.  
  
I’ll make it good. I promise.  
  
Give me a shot._   
  
Eirik clicked delete, the sharpness between his ribs intensifying as the words disappeared from the screen, a last silent rejection before he had to go forth and do what needed to be done.   
  
The message went unreturned, as did the subsequent texts of varying degrees of sobriety, plaintiveness, lewdness, and romance that filled a phone left in a drawer beside the bed as Eirik tried to sleep and prepare himself to return to work and reality in Amsterdam the next morning.   
  
~~~~~~   
  
_Sweden and Norway.  
  
Sweden and Norway._   
  
Eirik closed his eyes and read the casting sheet one more time, feeling everything come cascading down around him as he sat in his dressing room and thought about just how likely it was that the shit was about to hit the Scandinavian fan. He’d snuck into the office early in the morning, uninterested in being cornered by a Francis who had sent not one by four wheedling and passive-aggressive emails about that evening’s release party over his weekend away, only to find the script spelling trouble with a capital S and N taped to his door.   
  
It wasn’t that he had any real issue with Sweden as a potential co-star. He could slip into Norway and perform with just about anyone, but the thought of Jens finding out about this newest evolution of Nordic relations made his morning coffee turn sour in his gut.   
  
The sound of familiar steps pounding down the hallway had him up and moving from his couch before his mind processed what his feet were doing, heart racing with sick anticipation as the threw open the door, prepared for almost anything but the scene that confronted him.   
  
He crossed the threshold from dressing room to hall in the instant that Jens’ fist connected with Berwald’s startled jaw, eyes widening in surprise as Berwald stumbled backwards, sheltered by an attractive young man vibrating with anger as he lunged at Jens.   
  
Eirik couldn’t see Jens’ face, couldn’t see the confused hurt and rage in twist of his mouth, only the tension of his shoulders and the wide, determined spread of his feet as his pained voice echoed down the hall in answer to Berwald’s startled protestations.   
  
Eirik shook his head in wonderment of Jens’ idiocy as he listened to Berwald deny claims that he’d stolen Eirik away from Jens, watching with sick fascination as Berwald read the casting sheet so indelicately shoved in his face and came to the same quick and horrifying conclusion as Eirik had only an hour before.   
  
“That’s right. Francis said that you’ve been doing such good work lately you must have been getting inspiration from somewhere and the Boss Man said that since I couldn’t cut it anymore, maybe you should take over since another Scandinavian top was as a good a replacement as he could think of...” Jens said bitterly as Eirik winced internally, knowing that if both the Ble Tulip bigwigs were behind this plan, there was little chance of it being anything but a done deal.   
  
Berwald looked stressed, with his little boy-toy still glowering at Jens, startled when Eirik met his eyes across the room. Eirik gave away nothing, though the his teeth felt as though they would crack under the strain and his palms had gone slick with nerves as Jens continued to pace with barely restrained anger.   
  
Eirik almost scoffed at Berwald’s mumbled attempt to placate the raging Dane, wishing he were the kind of man prone to frustrated outbursts, tempted to put his own fist through the wall in just such a display when Jens ranted in a pained voice:   
  
“You have to refuse! You can’t do this! It’s too fucked up, even for all the weird shit we do every day!”   
  
Idiot Jens and his idiotic inability to see that no one was doing anything to him, that this was a job and not the twisted Shakespearean tragedy without clothes that he seemed to wish it were.   
  
Idiot Jens and his idiotic ability to make him wish that he didn’t have to do something that was causing such obvious hurt.   
  
But as Berwald was hesitatingly and half-heartedly protesting, this was their life—they had each made their choices when they had signed on the dotted line of their contracts. Feelings were not relevant when it came to the bottom-line.   
  
“Fuck this job! And fuck Francis!” Jens shouted, his anger echoing off the walls, hollow and powerless.   
  
Time seemed to slow as Eirik watched Jens unravel into outright angry irrationality, shouting invectives and declarations that he knew they would all regret in due time, heated words with the power erase them all out of employment. He knew that his grace period of avoidance was up.   
  
It was time to end this.   
  
He pushed away from the wall, breathing in deeply, ignoring the surprise in Berwald’s eyes as he sidled up quietly to Jens, gently laying a hand on his shoulder and sighing, “Shut-up and come with me, idiot, before you make it worse for yourself. And for me.”   
  
He felt Jens flinch and relax under his touch, the desperation in his gaze undoing Eirik as he marched them towards his dressing room, as he tried to cling to his determination to see this through.   
  
As soon as the door shut, Jens was babbling at him, fingers and hands clutching at his waist and his arms, trying to make him pay attention to the insistent, sad, rush of words. With each touch and each demand for assurance, Eirik felt his control slipping away, his frustration and ire softening the wake of Jens’a earnest tide of affection.   
  
“Stop talking,” Eirik murmured, breaking away from Jens’ grip to settle in his chair, gesturing for Jens to take a seat away from his on the couch, knowing that he had to do this next part without interruption, without the cloying temptation of touch.   
  
To his shock, Jens obeyed, settling down in silence, running his hands though his hair and staring at Eirik with so much hope and vulnerability that Eirik knew there was only one thing he could do in this situation to brace them all for the inevitable fall.   
  
He gentled his voice, leaning forward in his chair to look Jens’ in the eyes as he said, “You’re ridiculous. I’ve told you a thousand times this is a business.”   
  
Jens opened his mouth to respond until Eirik glared at him in warning, eyebrows raising in pre-emptive annoyance before he continued, “But I’ll go to Francis and Jos and tell them to cancel the scene. I’ll spare you that so as to spare us all any more of your dramatics. I also won’t have you hitting Berwald, a friend who has put up with you for long enough to qualify for sainthood, for no reason. I won’t be the cause of that.  So, I’ll refuse.”   
  
Eirik knew that he would likely pay a heavy price for his defiance, though he remained confident that Francis wouldn’t allow Jos to fire him for his insubordination. He did have one card left in his deck to play.   
  
Eirik almost choked on the blind relief and adoration pouring from Jens, drawn in by the tidal waves of his feelings, unable to resist letting himself float in the warmth of Jens’ affection for a brief, wonderful moment. He shifted forward in his chair, letting their knees touch, letting Jens take his hand and lace their fingers together in such a simple act of sweetness that Eirik closed his eyes and let out a long breath.   
  
And then, for the first and last time, Eirik brushed his lips against Jens’, chaste and closed, an unscripted kiss given freely.   
  
Because he wanted to.   
  
He felt the curve of Jens’ smile, different from the filthy leer that he’d licked and bitten a thousand times over, now something soft and private, tasting so much of happiness that Eirik thought he might not recover.   
  
When Jens tried to pull him into his lap, Eirik broke away, breathing heavily and staring at the floor, waiting for all his reasons why to return to him and overwhelm the insane rushing of his heart.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Eirik murmured, surprising himself as the words fell from his too recently kissed mouth.   
  
Jens laughed, light and airy, lips still wet from their embrace as he asked, “What the hell for? You don’t ever have to apologize for kissing me like that!”   
  
He forced his eyes back to Jens’, guilt worming its way under his skin as readied himself to bring Jens’ hopes to a close, trying and failing to think only of Aron and responsibility as he said, with more regret and sweetness than he’d thought himself capable:   
  
“I can’t give you what you want.”   
  
He watched the widening of Jens’ eyes in hurt surprised as he sucked in a sharp breath. Eirik backed away from the reaching of his hands, holding his gaze and shaking his head.   
  
“I know you have feelings for me. But, listen, Jens, even _if_  I returned them, even if they were requited, I can’t be who you want me to be.”   
  
Eirik wrung his hands and tried to keep his voice gentle but firm as the smile slid entirely from Jens’ face, replaced by the unfamiliar and unwelcome sight of hurt and disappointment, brow furrowed as if weighted down by Eirik’s rejection.   
  
“I have responsibilities and obligations, ties and commitments that are too important for me to risk this job and this income,” Eirik said as his pulse cooled as he told himself he was doing the right thing, that this was for the best, even as he was confronted with the crumbling of Jens’ affection.   
  
He took a last deep breath and stood, trying to ignore the spasms of guilt in his chest when Jens stood as well, looking lost and defeated, something he had never thought he would witness, wondering a bit at Jens’ unexpected quietness.   
  
Eirik kept his voice soft as he brought the scene to a close, “And so I am putting a stop to this. I am sorry, Jens, but you and me….we’re not meant to be.”   
  
Jens just shook his head and smiled at him sadly before tracing his fingers over the contours of Eirik’s lips, a ghost of a touch that had him sighing. And in the next moment the warmth of his hand was gone as he left, the door snicking quietly shut, leaving Eirik alone in the silence with only the dull thudding of his heart.   
  
And it was over. He’d done it…told Jens no, turned him down and turned him away, once and for all.   
  
He waited for the sense of relief to come, to sooth the irritating burning in his chest.   
  
For a long moment, Eirik stared at the wall, trying to remember how to breathe easily, wanting to rid himself of the unease and nausea wreaking havoc on his stomach, feeling his head start to throb when he realized that he’d only fought of one two battles for the day.   
  
He still had to fight the Dutch-French alliance.


	7. Chapter 7

Eirik dithered until after lunch to make his foray into battle, the delay serving the dual purpose of giving him time to pack away the tumultuous feelings that Jens always engendered and also ensuring that the Boss Man had been in the office long enough to have his requisite 10am coffee and noontime lunch. The owner of the Blue Tulip was notoriously regimented and the staff had learned through a painful process of trial and error that the best time to approach him with anything he wasn’t going to like was between lunch and afternoon tea when he was both caffeinated and fed.*

He also kept a close eye on the hallway, hoping for Francis to go into Jos’ office, hoping that Francis would help soften the situation. For the first time in what felt like weeks, luck smiled upon Eirik as Francis swanned into the Director’s office shortly after 1pm, giving Eirik just the opportunity for which he had been hoping.

Steeling his nerves and smoothing out his countenance, Eirik knocked sharply at the door, rolling his eyes when Francis bade him enter cheerily only to receive a bored rebuke from Jos informing him of the rudeness of inviting people into an office that was not his own.

Eirik had only been in office once before when he negotiated the terms of his original contract, but as he entered for the second time he found it as light and organized as before, desk illuminated by the glow of two monitors and covered in tidy stacks of financials, the man behind it as imposing ever. Had he not been about to break one of the Jos’s cardinal rules, Eirik would have had a greater appreciation and shared respect for a man of such cold implacability and his famed blue eyes that held such derision it was said they could freeze a lesser man at twenty paces.

As it was, he merely returned Jos’ penetrating stare by waving a hand through the wreath of cigarette smoke surrounding the desk and nodding at his boss and his director, hoping to give away as little of his hand as possible when playing with another master card player.

Francis gazed at him worriedly while Jos turned his face back to the computer as if he couldn’t be bothered to spare Eirik even another moment of his attention, taking an obnoxiously long drag on his cigarette as to if to underline the point.

Eirik cleared his throat; it seemed the first move was to be his, “I need to speak to you about the latest casting.”

Even as he still looked solely at his monitor, it was only the grinding hiss of Jos putting out his cigarette that broke the heavy silence that descended until Francis tried to lighten the atmosphere by smiling at Eirik, though his eyes were narrowed in warning as he purred:

“Nothing wrong, I hope?”

Jos snorted softly, using the fingers not currently reaching for another smoke to reach for a folder labeled FY12, still ignoring Eirik as he interrupted, voice clipped and unimpressed, “Other than Scandinavian fistfights in the hallway?”

Eirik swallowed his surprise. He should have known better than to think that little incident had gone unnoticed.

Jens continued clicking his mouse and idly flipping through documents as he said with no small amount of disapproval, “You are aware this is a business and not a venue for working out personal problems. I don’t care what you do once you walk out but I require that distractions be left at the door.”

Any other day, Eirik would have no trouble in wholeheartedly agreeing.

Idiot Jens and his idiot distractions.

“I understand, of course,” Eirik answered flatly, keeping his gaze firmly on the sharp lines of Jos’ profile, refusing to be cowed by his dismissiveness.

Finally, at length, Jos pushed back from the computer, lighting another smoke and drumming his fingers along the desk as he asked bluntly, “And yet?”

Eirik took a breath, flicking a glance at his hands as if to feign total disinterest in the subject, answering as blandly as possible, “I would ask that you reconsider the Sweden and Norway scene.”

Eirik observed the irritated arch of Jos’ eyebrow and surprise on Francis’ face. Apparently they had not expected that he would be the Nordic to break company policy.

Francis tried to laugh it off, strained and forced as he perched on the side of Jos’ desk, earning him a piercing dirty look.

“Why, Eirik, I’m surprised! I would have thought you of all people would be the last to go against policy!”

Eirik nodded his head a little, “Certainly. But as you can tell from this morning’s altercation there are extenuating circumstances I think you should take into consideration.”

Jos snapped his fingers and Eirik dutifully met his cold, calculating blue eyes without hesitation, listening keenly to his boss as he grumbled lowly, “Don’t waste my time with circumstances and considerations. If you are asking me to give you special treatment, I want to know what you are prepared to provide in return to as to make up for the potential loss in sales from the absence of a Nordic video for the third week running.”

“I’m amenable to other suggestions of how I might best serve the interests of the studio,” Eirik murmured noncommittally, uninterested in giving away his bargaining chip unless forced to do so.

The slow spread of Francis’ cunning smile made Eirik’s skin crawl and he suddenly understood why these two made such a successful team. Jos hunted for every advantage he could and Francis in turn exploited them.

“Oh, don’t worry, Jos. I’ve got just the project for Eirik to work on as a substitute. I’m sure in light of this request, you’ve reconsidered my proposal for tonight’s release party, Eirik?” Francis said happily while Eirik continued to have a battle of wills via staring contest with Jos, who was now eying him as a predator stalking half-crippled prey.

Eirik curbed the urge to roll his eyes and strangle the Frenchman, “If you agree to cancel the scene with no contractual penalty, I’ll do the performance tonight.”

A ghost of smirk passed over Jos’ face, far more telling than the wide grin on Francis’, as he smoothly countered, “You’ll follow Francis’ recommendations without objection?”

“I will,” Eirik said with finality, already filled with loathing for what humiliation he was sure to come. He hated the thought of making a public spectacle almost as much as he hated that Jens’ look of confused hurt.

“Very well,” Jos said as he turned his attention back to his monitor and pointed one finger towards the door in a clear sign that this conversation was over, “Scene canceled.”

Eirik said nothing in thanks or farewell, merely turning on his heel and making a suitably hasty exit from the room, ignoring Jos’ parting shot, “I expected more sense from you,  _Norway_.”

He didn’t stop his resolute march down the hall even when Francis jogged up next to him and started chattering brightly, “Never fear, Eirik! Big Brother Francis will ensure that your performance is the height of class and sophistication.”

“I’m sure,” Eirik spat doubtfully, refusing to do any further penance by granting Francis his good favor.

Francis grabbed his wrist lightly, arresting their progress to turn Eirik unwilling towards him, giving him a sad and knowing smile as he murmured, “I was surprised by your decision as well, Eirik, though for reasons entirely other than dear Jos’. You always seemed so cold, so focused on your own goals and interests. I wouldn’t have thought you would go so far for him as to agree to do something you loath. I had never pegged you as one for such grand romantic gestures.”

Eirik felt the color drain from his cheeks, unable to hold Francis’ gaze as he muttered his denials and broke free of Francis’ hold and resumed fleeing down the hall, wanting nothing more than to be free of all the ridiculous drama and intrigue of the damned Blue Tulip in the hours he had remaining before he surrendered his dignity on a gay bar stage.

The sound of Francis’ laughter chased the echoes of his steps and the thundering of his heart as he pushed through the studio doors wondering for neither the first nor the last time just when everything had gotten so incredibly cocked up.

~~~

It could have been infinitely worse, Eirik thought, eying his appearance in the backstage mirror at Club Coq. White dress shirt and tight white boxer-briefs, it seemed almost uninspired for a man with Francis’ never ending depths of depraved creativity until Francis had gleefully informed him that his brilliant ensemble fulfilled so many fantasies,  _“The innocent virgin in white, the Tom Cruise in Risky Business fetish, the staid business man undone, the mysterious snow nymph!”_

 _Ridiculous beyond reckoning_  was Eirik’s overriding opinion on the whole sordid affair but he swallowed down his distaste and tried to remember that he was a professional and there was nothing he couldn’t do well. Even if it involved strutting through cascades of glitter in his underwear while he moaned and writhed naked and wet on ten different monitors all for the good of making the Blue Tulip a euro or two.

(Not that they would ever know because he would never reveal what he’d done for fear of Jens reaching the same ludicrous conclusion as Francis, but Jens and Berwald were going to owe him for the rest of the natural born lives for this. He comforted himself with thoughts of just how he would exactment payment in the future).

All that remained as the minutes ticked towards the unveiling of his doom was to get into the proper frame of mind, to find Norway and his infinite allure and elusiveness somewhere beneath the turmoil and chaos that had plagued him all day.

Eirik closed his eyes and let his mind wander down the dirty path; one hand drifting to rest on his hip, fingers splayed out lightly across the front of his underwear. He tried to imagine some nameless man, beautiful and unfamiliar, touching him. He tried to think of anyone but Jens, casting his net wide enough to even recall the surprisingly erotic Sweden & Germany scene he’d secretly downloaded and hidden in his “Taxes and Other Financial Docs” files, but his recalcitrant mind kept coming back to his most favored and fevered fantasy.

_Jens on his knees, putting that loud, irritating mouth to good use, smiling as he licked and kissed his way down Eirik’s cock, warm hands pressed on the inside of his thighs, hot breath over his skin melting the sighs frozen in his throat, touching him and sucking him, looking up at him with those happy devious eyes, bringing him off with lips and tongue and throat in a way that was never allowed to happen on set. Eirik would put his fingers in his hair the way and trace them over the spread of his lips as he swallowed his cock and it would be so good that he’d_

Abruptly, the song changed, filling the room with the thumping bass that was his cue to make his way onstage. Eirik opened his eyes and knocked his head against the wall to shake off the daydream, cock just hard enough to be seen through the thin white fabric of his skivvies, eyes alight with that wantonness that had gotten him so far. His mind was clouded with lust and yearning and he knew that in his eyes and in his face the audience would believe that his wanting was for them and them alone.

Once again, he was Norway.

It was show time.

  
The performance was over before he knew it, a quick blur of beats and glitter, a crowd swaying in the pulsing purple and blue lights that blinded Eirik so that all he could see in the flashing depths was a sea of hands and bodies moving as one as he flirted and flamed the fires of their desire for him and for one another. As he disappeared from the waves of adulation and the flowing fake snow that now coated him from head to toe, Eirik realized that in all his abhorrence for public spectacle he had forgotten how powerful and heady a rush it was to be so adored, to be so wanted.

He strode into his dressing room, heart racing and skin warmed from the stage lights and the heated gaze of hundreds that had been just for him. He wondered if Jens had been in the crowd, if he had known that the curve of hardness beneath the deliberately demure briefs had been for him, as he palmed his dick and licked his lips, making the rare decision to give into his wild temptation and toss himself off right then and there.

He sat and shut his eyes, feet spread on the ground that vibrated with the bass of the club’s beats, hands falling into his lap, rushed and careless as he touched himself through the fabric, nails trailing tiny paths through the sweat slicked glitter on his thighs. His earlier fantasy filled his senses and he could almost feel the hot, wet, softness around him and the touch he knew would be possessive and pleading in the same instant.

Just as he slid one hand underneath, the door opened and through the slit of his barely opened eyes he could make out the silhouette of the one person he wanted to see the most and the least, staring at him with unrestrained surprise and desire, growling, “Your show was fucking hot, Norge,” as he strode across the room.

Eirik knew that he should protest, that he should be annoyed that Security apparently suffered under the same delusion that Jens had open access to Eirik at all times, that he should remove his hand and tell Jens to get the hell out…but all he could do was let his legs fall open to welcome the slide of Jens’ body between them.

“Denmark,” he panted while his head was tipped back and his neck was kissed and bitten, smothered in the ardent warmth and lust.

He could feel the cold press of a watch against his thigh and the scratch of a plastic button as a familiar hand, soft and rough in turns, circled his cock and stroked down, just the way he liked it, with a hint of urgency and tightness, a knowing thumb brushing over the wetness at the head in an expert tease that made him arch his hips and knot his fingers through the tie dangling in his face and pull his tempter closer and closer still.

The mouth on his neck touched his neck and his shoulder, teeth grazing over jaw and ear, sucking hot and dirty marks over his throat, making him curse and shake and wonder hazily why this deliciously cruel mouth wouldn’t meet his lips, wouldn’t kiss him as he rocked into the hand moving over him so wonderfully.

"Kiss me," Eirik commanded breathily, chasing the lips that slid hot and wet over his jaw, so close and yet so far.

"Say my name and I will."

Eirik struggled to push more of his cock into the hand tormenting him so, sense overwhelmng sensibility as fingers twisted his nipple and brushed against his balls, making him gasp and sigh, "Denmark."

Teeth dragged over the tendons in his neck, an angry growl in his ear telling him that wasn't the right answer, that he was still to be denied the press of lips on his.

But he had no time to search for the right answer, for the word that would bring him what he wanted, when the hand stroking him twisted just so and the lips on his neck reached that spot behind his ear that shouldn't have been known to anyone who wasn't a lover, a touch so intimate and just what he neededthat he came with a shocked sigh and jerk that sent him careening into the waiting and solid embrace of his….

_Jens._

As he struggled to catch his breath and fish for his sanity somewhere in the still rippling ocean of lust, Eirik tucked his face into the crook of Jens’ neck and tried to loosen the hold his uncooperative fingers had on Jens’ shirt.

“Eirik,” Jens said with hot amusement, running his hands down the shaking of his back until Eirik shook his head and pushed him away, frowning with disappointment at his total lack of control and sense.

Still breathing erratically, he tried to school his expression into severity, trying and failing to scowl over the lingering bliss of orgasm as he muttered, “That was….”

“What you needed, so shut the fuck up about it already. I know it doesn’t mean anything,” Jens interrupted, flopping onto the couch and groaning as he adjusted the tightness of his pants.

“You do?” Eirik asked with skeptical surprise, eyeing him warily, expecting that the Dane would press this little slip-up of his to his fullest advantage.

Jens snorted, “I’ve been in your shoes before, remember. The stage, the crowd, the show…makes us all a little hot and bothered. I was just doing you a professional courtesy.”

Eirik ignored the  _“since that’s all you want to be”_  that Jens huffed under his breath, “Is that why you invited yourself into my private dressing room?”

“No. I wanted to ask you to tell me what it is that’s holding you back. What or who it is that’s so important that you can kiss me like you want me with one breath and kick me to the curb with the next.”

Startled into wary alertness by the Jens’ sudden seriousness, Eirik proceeded with caution, already regretting the kiss that seemed to be the nadir of Jens’ new determination to make his life a chaotic, uncontrolled mess.

“And why should I?”

Jens gave him a crooked, dimmed smile, “Give me something to sooth my broken heart and all that.”

“You don’t look like a man with a broken heart,” Eirik murmured, casting a critical gaze over Jens’ slumped, well-dressed figure sprawled on the couch, remembering the hot touch of his mouth, the sting of his teeth, wishing that he didn’t feel so damned guilty for doing what he knew had to be the right thing.

Jens laughed a little, favoring him with a falsely jaunty wink, “That little kiss you gave me is holding the poor guy together. I figure I’ve got a chance and I’m ready to wage as many wars as I need to win you over, but it would be damned helpful to know what I’m up against.”

Eirik wondered if Jens would excuse him for a moment to beat his head repeatedly against a wall so he could dislodge whatever temporary insanity had made him give into the obviously poor choice to kiss Jens and that was currently flooding him with silly, useless, pleasure that someone was willing to go to such lengths for him.

He settled for sighing and shooting Jens a dirty look, “You are an idiot.”

“Be that as it may, I’d still like to know,” Jens cackled, apparently assured that Eirik was going to give into him on this demand as well, settling down to quietly ask, “Look, is there someone else?”

Eirik held his tongue for a long moment, the silence falling thick and heavy as Jens looked at him growing agitation and he weighed the decision of how much to reveal, how much insight he really wanted to give this man who already had such hooks in him.

“In a manner of speaking,” Eirik murmured, thinking of Aron, suddenly uninterested in discussing his little brother while dressed like a Nordic Tom Cruise in some seedy backroom of an infamous Amsterdam gay bar.

“But I’m not talking about this here,” Eirik said definitively, rolling right over Jens’ angrily curious questioning, taking a deep breath before he took the plunge, “Come with me and I’ll tell you what you want to know…about my younger brother.”


	8. Chapter 8

“A brother, huh?” Jens asked the moment they were outside the club while Eirik wished he weren’t still covered in glitter under his clothes and that he weren’t about to have this conversation.   
  
Aron was someone precious, their relationship something personal, and certainly not something he discussed with, well, anyone. As the answer to Jens’ eager inquiry balanced on his tongue, Eirik felt as though with revealing that he, too, had enough of a heart to hold love for someone special, he was opening a door to Jens that he wasn’t sure he could close again.   
  
His breath spilled out fleeting and white into the cool night as they started walking down the cobbled and narrow alleys, the streets quiet for a Monday, leaving him almost entirely alone with Jens as he finally answered:   
  
“Yes. My younger brother, Aron.”   
  
“We’ve worked together for, what, more than a year and a half? How come you never said anything about any brother before now?”   
  
Eirik ignored the undercurrent of hurt, refusing to be bullied into apologizing for not being as idiotically revealing at all time as the man who was walking just a little too close and demanding more than too much from him.   
  
“My personal life was hardly your business at the time. Its hardly your business now.”   
  
The warm press of fingers under the sleeve of his jacket almost made him stop and face Jens under the wan light of a bar that hadn’t even bothered to open on a slow, cold Monday.   
  
“I want it to be my business. I want to be your business. I want to know you, Eirik,” Jens told him, voice as hot and emphatic as his touch.   
  
Eirik stilled, breathing heavy and fast as the weight of Jens’ declaration settled on his shoulders a comforting and confining blanket of emotion and expectation. He wondered when it was that Jens decided it was time to go wage all out war for his affection, lobbing such missiles at his walls.    
  
Jens was watching him avidly as though he thought by careful study he could figure out all the right maneuvers to win the battle .   
  
If only it were that simple, Eirik thought scornfully, unsure of whether or not he wanted to kiss or kill Jens for wrapping him up so entirely in affection and attention.   
  
They were such costly luxuries and Eirik had always been a spendthrift man.   
  
Eirik sighed and looked away, “Well, whether or not  _I_  wanted such things, here we are. So listen carefully and quietly, because I do not want to have to explain myself more than once.”   
  
Fingers squeezed tightly over his wrist for a fleeting moment, imprinting him once again with all that Jens wanted, reminding his skin of how much it liked that touch, before Jens shoved his hands into his pockets and silently tilted his head to the side as if to say, “Lead the way. I’ll keep dogging your footsteps as I’ve always done.”   
  
And as they walked with the flow of the Amstel river, Eirik slowly began to unravel the story of his childhood, looking at the reflection of the moon in the canal rather than Jens’ open, wondering face with all its unreserved emotion as he spoke of the loss of his parents and the temporary separation from Aron.   
  
Without ceasing the constant forward motion of his steps, trusting Jens to keep apace, Eirik told the quiet Amsterdam streets of their subsequent reunion, explaining without embellishment how as a teenager (who had no right to be so passionately selfless, damn him), Aron had given him carte blanche to make his way in the world without him.   
  
And how that had been the most patently ridiculous idea that Eirik had ever heard.   
  
Jens laughed lightly when Eirik glared at him and told him that it was still the most ridiculous idea he had ever heard even after all these months of putting up with Jens’ unique brand of idiocy.   
  
Finally, as they leaned on the marbled railing of the Blauwbrug, with Jens coming close enough to tempt with his distracting warmth, Eirik revealed how and why it was he had come to work for the Blue Tulip, sketching out a picture of a young man studying far from home and a brother who would do almost anything to ensure that picture was completed without smudging any of the careful lines Eirik had drawn so precisely.   
  
A neat little box that contained what he wanted for the future.   
  
“I require the income the Blue Tulip provides, without distraction, interruption or difficulty, so that I can keep the promises I have made to Aron,” Eirik finished quietly but firmly, a strange sense of longing curling around his heart as he realized that this truly was the ending, there were no more games to play, no more secrets to hide.   
  
“Do you understand?” Eirik asked, still looking out over the Amstel, watching his pale exhalation fade.   
  
“I understand,” Jens murmured quietly, words twisting in Eirik’s ear until he heard the sudden smack of a hand against stone, turning abruptly to meet Jens’ far too warm stare, heating as Jens sighed, “But, fuck, all that stuff you just told me, it only makes me want you more.”   
  
Eirik startled, taking a wary step back, “That was not my intention.”   
  
Jens laughed hollowly, “I know. And I get that you love your brother and that you want to take care of him...”   
  
Eirik steeled himself, risking the inevitable question, “But?”   
  
“But I don’t understand why you can’t give this,” Jens touched his hand to Eirik’s chest, “a shot, too. You could give me a chance and still do what you needed to do, right? We were really good together. We could be really good together again, be together for money and for fun. ”   
  
Eirik softened in spite of himself at the plaintive hint in Jens’ voice, unable to deny that his heart was beating so strongly that he was sure the fingers resting on his jacket would be dislodged by the rattling.   
  
He covered Jens’ hand with his own, cold fingers to cold fingers, “Idiot. Denmark-Norway is over. If Francis and Jos have pulled it, I guarantee they have a reason. You know those two well enough to that much. I have an unpleasant inkling that we are currently standing on very thin ice and I am uninterested in pushing the issue to find out what sort of devilry they would have in store were I to fall into the water.”   
  
He paused, tightening his hold over Jens’ hand, “Please leave it. I’m asking you, for me, not to push this any further at the office. Don’t give Francis or Jos any more leverage than they already have.”   
  
Jens frowned and Eirik could see that he was struggling to understand, he could almost hear the determined wheels of his mind turning as he waited for Jens to come what passed for the next logical conclusion in his overly hopeful and stubborn mind.   
  
“I don’t give a shit about Francis or Jos or their stupid little schemes,” Jens complained, hurrying along when Eirik tried to pull away in anger, “But I’ll let it go. Doesn’t really matter anyways. They have fuck all to do with what we do outside of the our dirty little 9-5.”   
  
Eirik huffed in annoyance, “Are you always this stubborn and thickheaded?”   
  
Jens winked and leered, “You know you like it.”   
  
“I assure you, I do not,” Eirik spat, “And I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that I have to explain this to you as well. You are quite possibly the last person I would ever carry on with outside of work.”   
  
“What the hell?” Jens said with genuine offense, baring his teeth and tugging Eirik closer.   
  
Eirik struggled, hissing as he placed his palms on Jens’ chest and pushed away, “Did you forget, you utter moron, that if I’m not performing with you, I’ll be doing everything we used to do with someone else? Ludwig, Heracles, Antonio...it could be any of them, touching me, fucking me, and you’ll have absolutely no say in any of it. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you’ll be fine with that kind of arrangement? You punched your best friend this morning. I shudder to think how quickly you would convince Jos I wasn’t worth your dramatics to keep on the payroll.”   
  
“Fuck!” Jens shouted and Eirk watched as his little fantasy crumbled in the face of reality, feeling a queer sense of mourning as the expectant light in Jens’ eyes faded into frustration.   
  
Eirik took a deep breath and resumed staring at the comforting blackness of the water, “You know I’m right.”   
  
Jens huffed and slumped next to him, back leaning against the railing, answering with a odd mixture of wistful bitterness, “Yeah, I couldn’t put up with that shit for long. Don’t know how Ludwig watches someone else come on Feliciano’s face or how Berwald’s new man handles knowing that Berwald’s off conquering other nations that aren’t him.”   
  
Eirik shrugged, shoulder rubbing against Jens’ side, tired and drawn. He closed his eyes and leaned into the hand that was suddenly cupping his chin, shaking his head and whispering “No” into a cool, dry palm when Jens asked him, “And you won’t give it up?”   
  
The hand fell away and Eirik felt the cold on his skin, opening his eyes to the same dark evening, at once ready to be home, to be done with this day so he could pack Jens away into a little box of memories that he would only revisit when exceptionally drunk or lonely.   
  
He pushed away from the railing, unsurprised when Jens trailed after him, too exhausted to protest his the lingering presence of the shadow that followed him block after block in silence. They made it all the way to the front door of his apartment building, carrying the tense weight of disappointment in the space between their hands that did not hold.   
  
He should have known the quiet was too good to last, that Jens was far too stupidly stubborn to just know when to let go, though he could not ignore the way his body turned immediately when Jens called out to him, couldn’t suppress the surge of expectation he felt when he saw Jens’ lopsided grin and the determined crease in his forehead.   
  
“Hey, when does your brother graduate?”   
  
Surprised out of reticence, Eirik answered automatically, “June, 15, 2014.”   
  
He watched with wary curiosity as Jens did mental math.   
  
“Not even two years from now. That’s totally doable. I can do that. Plenty of time to get some shit done in the meantime,” Jens babbled happily as Eirik stared on in desperate confusion.   
  
“Idiot. What are you talking about?” He demanded lowly, uninterested in his neighbors act as audience for further personal humiliation on a Monday.   
  
Jens marched towards him, mouth firm with resolution, crowding him on the stairs without touching, “You said you were going to quit the day your brother graduated, right? That the Blue Tulip meant nothing to you beyond a means of keeping your promise?”   
  
Eirik nodded hesitantly, pulse picking up as he began to understand with dreadful wanting where Jens’ persistent little mind had ridden this train of thought.   
  
Jens smiled triumphantly, “Then I’ll wait for you. Two years is nothing!”   
  
For one of the first times in his life, Eirik was stunned speechless, stripped of all his cleverness and defensive coldness, raw with disbelief, “How could you be so stupid? I haven’t even said yes to a single thing you’ve offered me. Why would you go so far? Why would you do this?”   
  
Jens was undeterred, “Heh, you’re the stupid one if you don’t know why! Besides, I think its time for me to move on from the Blue Tulip, seek out my next awesome adventure, and hope that when you’re free from all these responsibilities and obligations, maybe you’ll want to come with me.”   
  
Eirik blinked, blinded by the intense surety in Jens’ eyes, their breath mingling in the space between them as he struggled to regain his grip on reality.   
  
“You...you’re...completely ridiculous and irritating and you never know when to stop,” Eirik sighed, even as his cheeks flushed and his stomach tightened at the thought of someone being so completely stupid and stubborn over someone as cold, difficult, and distance as he.   
  
Jens happy laughter skated over his cheeks, hot in the chill of the night, “You couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”   
  
Eirik shook his head, resignation riding on a secret sea of relief, “I’ve only been trying to do that since the minute I met you.”   
  
“Don’t you think its time you gave in?” Jens flirted, backing him against the wall while Eirik scoffed weakly and looked away, pretending to be very interested in the apartment callbox, trying to determine exactly how he had landed himself in this situation.   
  
“I know I said I’d wait,” Jens murmured in his ear, “But how about you let me inside, give me a sneak peak of your bedroom, put me on the layaway plan...”   
  
“What am I, a piece of furniture?” Eirik scoffed, grasping at his fading control, knowing that if he let Jens inside, there was a strong possibility the man would never leave.   
  
And he just might let him stay.   
  
“I don’t see why you’re so eager,” Eirik continued, endeavoring to sound stern instead of breathless, “What is there to do that we haven’t done countless times before? You’ve had me in a sling, for god’s sake.”   
  
Jens smirked at him, dark and slick like river, nuzzling into Eirik’s neck, “I’d have to rethink this if I didn’t know you’re just trying to hide that vicious imagination you’ve got going on. I know you’ve thought about it....how we could just kiss and touch for hours, rolling around like teenagers until we came. Or me on my knees for you, just for you, sucking you off like I’ve wanted to since the first day you gave me a dirty look and called me idiot. We could fuck, slow and long, take all goddamned afternoon if we felt like. You could fuck me. I’d want you to fuck me.”   
  
Eirik swallowed his groan, knowing that the desperate clasp of the hands that were now holding Jens’ waist gave him away, closing his eyes and wetting his lips as he tried his damned not to say  _yes, yes, yes_ .   
  
“But best of all, when we were done doing whatever filthy awesome thing we wanted to do, you’d go to bed with me and we’d get to wake up together and do it all over again,” Jens finished, pressing his lips against Eirik’s neck, breathing in deeply.   
  
Eirik sighed and fell into the embrace, wishing for the first time in many years that he could be as selfish as people believed him to be, startled when Jens held him back, smiling softly into his pained almost surrender.   
  
“And maybe, if I’m lucky, in two years, when you’re done doing what you’ve gotta do, you’ll finally say yes,” Jens said, brushing a piece of hair behind Eirik’s ear, making him shiver.   
  
“Maybe I will,” Eirik murmured without thinking, knowing that answer was as close to the truth as he could come when everything was still so tangled and his feelings so knotted.   
  
Jens looked delighted, as if he hadn’t expected even that meager assurance.   
  
Tired beyond all measure, feeling stripped barer that he had on that stage, Eirik mumbled, “But for now, you have to leave. No furniture layaway sex, no more promises, just no more tonight.”   
  
Jens grin mellowed into something soft and sweet, “Alright, I’ll go. But I want my goodbye kiss first. Its only fair, since you totally got to lay one on me earlier.”   
  
Eirik rolled his eyes, too exhausted to fight such a stupidly endearing request, closing his eyes again and tilting his head up, “Fine. But just one.”   
  
He wasn’t prepared for the gentleness with which Jens kissed him, had no idea that Jens could be so measured and controlled with the touch of his lips and the sweep of his tongue, making him sigh and press in closer, mouth parting under slow insistence, giving away as surely as he had at each turn that night. Jens kissed him more fervently, but no less sweetly, in a way he had never kissed him before, and it felt as though he were tangled in an embrace with someone so familiar and yet entirely new, who held him like he was to be treasured. The kiss lingered on so long that Eirik forgot to breathe, lost in desire and yearning until Jens brushed his lips over his cheeks, the arch of his brow, and the tip of his nose, leaving him both warm and wanting.   
  
“That was cheating,” Eirik murmured over the racing of his heart, opening his eyes to find Jens before him, flushed and happy, panting into the night air.   
  
“I never know when to stop,” Jens answered with a quiet smile, dropping his hands and starting to shuffle down the stairs.   
  
His still tingling lips turned upwards as he reached in his pocket for the key, grumbling, “Tell me something I don’t know.”   
  
Jens paused at the bottom of the stairs, “I love you.”   
  
The keys clattered to the ground, the only sound that broke Eirik’s stunned, breathless silence.   
  
Jens laughed and laughed, shaking his head as he turned away, murmuring, “I’ll see you around, Norge,” as he passed down the street and turned the corner while Eirik watched, unmoving and entirely moved.   
  
_Idiot, idiot Jens._


	9. Chapter 9

It took Eirik several minutes to recover from the tightness in his chest and the sudden catch in his throat as he stood in the foyer of his apartment, holding his keys and staring blankly into the darkness. For some reason all that his weary, wild mind could think of as Jens' parting words echoed in his ears was a very silly song from an old movie:   
  
_How do you solve a problem like Maria?_   
  
Only it was not an irritating Austrian nun that was confounding him at every step, it was a loud and persistent Dane with a gorgeous cock and apparent penchant for Norwegians who mostly just wanted him to go away and stop meddling with his plans. Not to mention his feelings. He was at his wits’ end. He had tried avoidance, tried anger, tried ignorance, and now, even tried honesty, and still the man insisted that he wanted Eirik.   
  
And for what? Vague assurances that he might, maybe, possibly consider something more than their current song and dance in two years? Tiny admissions from a man that Jens couldn’t claim that he truly knew, because Eirik did everything in his power to make sure that no one could know him entirely, because knowledge was power, and power meant control.   
  
Jens had shown himself to be irritatingly determined and Eirik had a sneaking suspicion that Jens was the type to be given an inch and take more than a mile.   
  
It defied all sense and reason, Jens’ passion and his own irritating inability to ignore his curiosity, his stubborn lingering desire to not be entirely rid of this person who upturned his every tried and true instinct.   
  
What would it mean to take that  _maybe_  seriously? To actually consider something as ludicrous as listening to an idiot’s love confession? What, precisely, was he meant to do with the promises that Jens had given him by the handful, weighing him down with waiting and wanting and, worse... _love._   
  
He knew he should have been relieved by Jens’ decision to leave the Blue Tulip, to finally be free from all the trouble Jens wrought, all his persistence and his determination that made Eirik so wary. Though he couldn’t be certain, knowing Jens to be perversely stubborn, Eirik was fairly sure that he could convince Jens to give up his pursuit in the days and weeks between now and June, 2013. If he wanted it, he could be rid of the whole mess once and for all.   
  
And, yet, all he could remember was the way Jens had looked when he’d said with such surety:   
  
_“I want it to be my business. I want to be your business. I want to know you, Eirik.”_   
  
He had almost given in so many times. Had almost accepted what Jens offered with a sighing, “yes, fine, very well, if you insist, by all means,” that he had started to wonder what it was that was in his own heart, what it was that made him think and feel such reckless things. Lust? Loneliness? Affection? Annoyance?   
  
All Eirik knew with any clarity was that he could no longer trust his traitorous body and his tired, tangled thoughts to guide him through this completely ridiculous situation.   
  
For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, Eirik was exhausted enough to admit that he needed help.   
  
He finally turned on the light and peeled his back from the front door, sliding off his shoes and coat to march wearily into the kitchen. He cast only a cursory glance at the clock, reaching blindly into the fridge for a beer, popping off the cap as he hit pulled out his phone and pressed his thumb over  _Aron_ .   
  
Eirik drummed his fingers on the counter, snorting when Aron answered his call with a clipped, “Make it quick. I am on my way to my 9am.”   
  
“Skip it,” Eirik commanded coolly, quashing his twinge of guilt at disrupting Aron's day by taking small comfort in imagining the dual look of confusion and annoyance on Aron’s face, no doubt stopped in his tracks by his brother’s surprising request, looking terribly foolish in the middle of campus.   
  
“And why would I do that?”   
  
Eirik smiled into his beer bottle, answering his brother’s obvious suspicion and badly disguised interest, needling him further, “Because I said so.”   
  
“And that would matter to me why?”   
  
The lingering Jens-induced tension started to loosen as Eirik fell into his brother’s familiar ire, taking one last pot shot, “Because I pay your bills, ingrate little brother.”   
  
Before Aron could launch into one of his brief, volcanic outbursts of displeasure, Eirik swallowed and said quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, “And because I need to talk.”   
  
Aron’s sharp intake of breath belied the boredom in his response, “Oh? Well, if you insist, I can make the time. You can’t possibly be duller than calculus.”   
  
Eirik listened as Aron told his companions to go on ahead without him, surprised by his own maudlin desire to be having this conversation in person, waiting quietly until Aron’s unmuffled voice once again filled his ear, “Alright. I’m back outside. Astonish me with whatever it is that is so important it merits you, of all people, insisting I abandon the education for which you are subsidizing.”   
  
“I need your help,” Eirik admitted, trying to make it sound as though he couldn’t think of anything more tedious and mundane, knowing that his brother wouldn’t fall for it for a second but hoping he would do him the courtesy of not crowing.   
  
“This is very true. But I am afraid you are going to have to be more specific, because I can think of a thousand things in which a little of my help would go a long way.”   
  
‘Ass,’ Eirik thought fondly, before answering flatly, “With Jens.”   
  
“Oh? You mean the Jens who is just a co-worker and means nothing to you?” Aron wheedled with obvious pleasure.   
  
Eirik gritted his teeth, hissing, “I may have misrepresented the situation. Things are slightly more...complicated.”   
  
“How completely unsurprising!” Aron said with cool laughter, further ruffling Eirik’s feathers.   
  
“I am sorry to be so predictable,” He huffed.   
  
“If it helps, that you had someone to be predictable over was really quite unpredictable,” Aron answered gently as his laughter faded, “So, tell me, what has Idiot Jens done to upset you this time?”   
  
Eirik hated and loved the little thread of worry he could hear under Aron’s taunt, closing his eyes and sighing softly, “Jens told me he loved me.”   
  
“He really is an idiot,” Aron said after a long, silent, moment, making Eirik snort with unexpected humor, at once feeling lighter than he had in too many days as Aron continued smoothly, “Why would he do something as ridiculous as that?”   
  
“Love me or tell me?” Eirik said flatly, lips still twitching with amusement.   
  
“Both,” Aron volleyed back without hesitation, though his words were warm as he continued with a long-suffering sigh, “No, no...I suppose I could come up with a few reasons that someone might suffer feelings for you. So, the latter. Why tell you? I wasn’t aware that matters had gotten quite so serious.”   
  
Eirik had to stifled another sigh, wary of sounding far too much like a lovelorn heroine of some badly written rom-com as he tried to untie the knot of chaos for his brother, answering crankily, “There are no matters. He told me because he is a stubborn idiot with no concept of when to give up.”   
  
He stemmed his annoyance, letting loose that sigh that wouldn’t be denied, trying to regain his equilibrium, “I don’t understand him and I don’t understand why he says he feels as he does, why he makes the promises he makes, why someone would try so hard for so little gain. I tell him I've got responsibilities, he tells me he wants me even more. I’ve told him that I’m in no position to entertain his idiotic dreams of romance and he insists that he’ll wait for me. He tells me he's leaving in one breath and that he loves me in another. All this nonsense and I've given nothing in return but a maybe.”   
  
“Brother, you never tell anyone but me anything but  _no_ ,” Aron said softly, not giving Eirik time to protest before moving swiftly on, “And if you don’t understand why he loves you, have you ever thought about asking? What am I saying...of course you haven’t. That would require acknowledging that emotions exist.”   
  
Eirik blustered coldly, wishing he could refute his brother’s accusation, “You presume that I care to know, that I care to have any further involvement in Jens’ delusions of romance.”   
  
“Obviously you do, or you wouldn’t be keeping me from the wonders of calculus,” Aron answered reasonably, ignoring Eirik’s weak protestations, “But forget about his feelings. What do you feel for him? And do not insult my intelligence by telling me you feel nothing.”   
  
Eirik scowled, wondering how much of a whipping he was to endure while attempting to unburden his heart, “I don’t know.”   
  
“Use your big boy words,” Aron taunted gently, drawing him out, “I know you can do better than that.”   
  
“Well, I know that I like to fuck him,” Eirik said snappishly, relishing his brother’s discomfitted squawk, taking pleasure in the momentary reversal of power, “He’s brash and too close and too confident all the time, but, yes, I want him.”   
  
“And beyond that?”   
  
“I don’t know,” Eirik repeated slowly, “And before you resort to insolence, I assure you that is the honest representation of my feelings. Yes, I  _have_  feelings, I’m just not sure what they are. Or what they mean. Or what they are worth. Or what to do about any of this," he finished in one great rush.   
  
Feeling as though a dam had been loosened, Eirik kept up his litany of confused complaints, grumbling, "And now he is leaving, just leaving me to deal with his little confession and his promise to wait for me, when I have no idea what exactly he thinks he is waiting for, because I understand almost none of what's going on in his foolish little mind. Why won’t he give up?”   
  
“I think he told you why,” Aron answered wryly as Eirik rubbed his forehead in frustration, as if he could smooth the thoughts into something manageable, wear down his worry with a touch.   
  
“I don’t know what do with that reason,” Eirik mumbled tiredly, “I just don’t know.”   
  
“And that unsettles you,” Aron ventured carefully.   
  
“Jens unsettles me,” Eirik confessed softly, knowing that to be one of the truest things he had said in a very long while.   
  
“Is that so terrible?” Aron asked so gently, Eirik closed his eyes and wished him near.   
  
“Of course it is,” Eirik responded quietly, “I dislike not knowing what I need to do.”   
  
He started at the sound of Aron’s low, affectionate laughter, preparing to be very disgruntled before his brother spoke again, “The problem isn’t not knowing what you need to do. You always know what you need to do. Its that you don’t know what you want to do, because you are a total failure at allowing yourself to want anything.”   
  
Astonished into silence Eirik opened his eyes and blinked into the harsh glare of the kitchen light, wondering when his baby brother had become so irritatingly perceptive.   
  
“And I can’t believe that I have to explain something this simple to you,” Aron said with a little too much enjoyment for Eirik’s taste, “But it is okay to not know. And it is also okay to want to find out what you want. Even if it might occasionally go against the grand vision you seem to have for your life. Even if it doesn't end up working out. I, hereby, give you permission to be unsettled, unsure, or, God’s forbid, even a little selfish, if it will make you happy.”   
  
“And if I don’t know if it would make me happy?” Eirik challenged through a rush of reluctant affection and admiration.   
  
“Ha, it would seem there are a lot of things you don’t know,” Aron chortled, “Why he loves you, what you feel for him, what you want to do about it, what would make you happy, etc, etc, etc.”   
  
“Your point being?” Eirik growled, feeling that rush suddenly subside.   
  
“That the only real question you have to answer right now is whether you want to try and find out. Sure, maybe you’ll discover you feel nothing, or he’ll change his mind, or countless other outcomes...even you can’t control that...but you have to decide if you at least want to try.”   
  
In the ensuing silence, listening to his brother’s patient, familiar breathing, Eirik thought about the  _maybe_  he had given Jens that had so surprised them both, thought about the unexpected gentleness and tenderness he had felt when turning Jens away, the disappointment that had dogged him every time he had resolved to be done with the whole confusion mess.   
  
He thought of his job and his responsibilities and the tiny frisson of relief he had felt when Jens had given him, and the possibility of a them, time.   
  
And all he was left with was a “maybe” and time.   
  
“I do,” Eirik admitted, finally, once and for all giving voice to what he had long believed to be a weakness, “I want to try. Even if it comes to nothing.”   
  
“I know, Brother,” Aron said calmly.   
  
Eirik grimaced and snorted, “Well, if you’re so wise and all knowing, do tell me exactly how I am supposed to try and find out these answers when Jens is leaving?”   
  
“Look inside yourself,” Aron intoned sarcastically, receiving a stiff “ha-ha” from his brother for his pains, before sighing, “Really, Eirik, you always claim to be older and wiser, so perhaps you should take some time and think about it. I am sure you’ll come up with something.”   
  
“Your faith in me is inspiring.”   
  
“Don’t pout,” Aron teased smugly, “Just try to be a little more honest with yourself and give into the occasional wild impulse to do something that might not be practical but that feels right, even if it doesn't fit in with _Eirik's Master Plan for a Trouble Free Life_  and you’ll be fine.”   
  
For no reason he could discern, his brother’s simple declaration filled him calm, with an assurance that he could do this...still get up and go to work, manage his responsibilities and feel entirely at ease with the choice he had made to do what was best for him and for his brother; while also allowing the tiniest bit of breathing room for the possibility that maybe he did want to explore his strange and undeniable desire for Jens, to understand why it was he couldn’t bring himself to let go.   
  
And in that space, he would let himself think of Jens' smile, would permit that warmth he felt when Jens looked at him like he was precious, and see if there was enough kindling of real emotion between them to build a fire.    
  
“How did you get to be so wise?” Eirik asked with cool affection, suddenly glad that he had given into his weakness and made the call.   
  
“Mmm, by necessity. Lack of proper role models, completely dependent and useless elder brothers, and so on and so forth.”   
  
Eirik smiled sharply, answering with threatening sweetness, “Your useless brother will remember you said that next time he’s hard at work on your behalf.”   
  
“I would prefer you never be hard at work on my behalf,” Aron said disgustedly, which pleased Eirik immensely.   
  
“Speaking of hard work, go to class,” Eirik said with a yawn, relief and exhaustion overwhelming him as the clock ticked ever closer to 3am.   
  
“Your wish is my command,” Aron snarked flatly and Eirik could hear him shuffling his books, preparing to resume the day he’d interrupted, causing Eirik’s heart to twist as his brother told him,  _“I’m glad you called,”_  with that earnestness that had always been his undoing.   
  
“As am I,” he murmured as he hung up the phone and turned off the lights.


	10. Chapter 10

Two days later, on a frigid, gray Wednesday morning, Eirik was no closer to determining what to do with the revelation that idiot Jens had apparently gone and fallen in love with him, nor what to do with his own unsettling conclusion that he might not be entirely not amenable to acknowledging that he, too, had managed to contract feelings of some sort for his ex-costar. Vague, nebulous feelings, tinged with a healthy dose of lust and irritation, but feelings none the less, and he though this was unfamiliar territory, as new and fragile as first ice, Eirik had reluctantly decided that such territory might be worth exploring.   
  
And no matter how the map of Denmark-Norway turned out, it gave him grim satisfaction to know that he could lay all the blame for its inception at Aron’s feet, thanks to his really unforgivable ability to cut through his older brother’s perfectly rational objections to the crux of the matter.   
  
Eirik _did_  want Jens.   
  
(For what, for how long, and at what cost remained to be seen, but now he could not deny that he there was some tiny, rebellious part of his winter heart that craved the idiot’s reckless warmth.)   
  
However galling that sibling-inducing admission had been, his little brother had been utterly useless at offering any instruction as to how to pursue the possibility of a potential, maybe-in-the-not-so-distant-future, relationship when Eirik was still so uncertain and Jens was leaving the Tulip. For the entirety of Tuesday, he had paced the narrow rooms of his apartment, trying to strategize, making careful mental columns of the pros and cons of each avenue he could take as his path diverged from Jens. To his disdain, none of the options that came to mind seemed particularly appealing or practical, leaving him to sit drinking coffee and scowling faintly at his own listlessness and stymied by his own inexperience with something as irrational and unpredictable as romance.   
  
He had so many questions that needed answering, and being completely against open, honest discourse and the sharing of sentiment as a general rule, the thought of giving Jens the opportunity to explain his feelings was somehow more horrifying that the notion of just throwing open his bedroom door and letting the man show instead of tell. He required more subtle methodologies. But, what exactly those methodologies were, he couldn’t say, which was entirely frustrating.   
  
Worse still, the longer he waited and prevaricated on his next step, the list of questions only continued to expand. He had no idea where Jens was going to go next, what he intended to do now, or how the shock waves of his resignation would affect the landscape of the Studio. He had no idea what would be next for him in the post-Denmark-Norway world.   
  
Finally, disgusted by his own hesitance and neurotic parsing of the seemingly infinite unknowables, Eirik concluded that in such an instance as this, he would be best served by imitating the person responsible for the majority of the mess in which he found himself. Like a fool, he would rush into the unknown headlong and wait for the answers to come to him as they may.   
  
For today, he would take a page from Jens’ playbook and follow the little voice whispering in his head, telling him to return to the scene of the original crime and go back to the Blue Tulip.   
  
~~~   
  
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Berwald mumbled lowly, grave expression melting into one of surprise for a brief moment as Eirik pushed through the glass doors and into the Blue Tulip lobby.   
  
Eirik nodded shortly, all too aware that it was very out of character for him to show himself at work without a scheduled scene, knowing that everyone would assume he had come to witness the abdication of the Tulip’s king, answering blandly, “Why not be present as I’m to be run through the gossip mill?”   
  
Berwald’s tiny smile turned serious once more and Eirik wondered if he had hoped that Eirik had come striding in with hopes of dissuading his friend from this course of action, if he was disappointed to find that Eirik had not come to save the day, but merely to accept his part in causing the wreckage.   
  
But Berwald said nothing, only shrugged and stepped to his side as though he wished to shield Eirik from the prying gaze of the far too interested receptionist who was known to be entirely immune to scathing glances from the less approachable employees of the company, having spent years as van Rijn’s assistant in Paris.   
  
“There will be no peace here for days,” Eirik said quietly, favoring the smirking receptionist with his coldest glare and walking towards the inner sanctum of the Studios.   
  
“True,” Berwald grunted, pushing his glasses up his nose and giving Eirik a considering look, “Jos had to chase Feliks away from his office door when Jens came in proclaiming he had an announcement.”   
  
Eirik stifled a sigh, knowing that there would be no hope of escaping weeks worth of irritating, completely inappropriate prying, gritting out, “Of course anything the idiot does would be a production.”   
  
Berwald grunted in commiseration, offering Eirik the solace of a blessed few moments of silence to collect his thoughts as they walked down the hallway towards Jens’ soon to be vacated dressing room.   
  
“So,” Eirik spoke hesitantly as they reached the threshold of the door, staring into the chaos of a room strewn with half-filled boxes of costumes and ridiculous props that Jens always claimed had sentimental value as they reached the threshold, “You did not attempt to dissuade him?”   
  
Berwald stared at him as though he were stupid and laughed dryly, shaking his head as he said, “Try to talk Jens out of something? I’ve better ways to waste my time.”   
  
Eirik glared frostily, refusing to acknowledge the flush he felt creeping across his cheeks, despairing that the sudden on-set of feelings seemed to have addled his good sense.   
  
Berwald clasped him on the shoulder, his large hand squeezing in what Eirik imagined was intending to be comforting, his gaze amused while he mumbled, “Jens knows what he’s about. Crazy though they seem at the time, his decisions have a way of turning out for the best.”   
  
Eirik scoffed and shifted smoothly away from the attempt at friendly solidarity, speaking quickly as the door to Jos’ office down the hall cracked open, “Even this one?”   
  
Berwald gave him a long, searching glance, answering with quiet sincerity, “Time will tell, but my bet’s on yes.”   
  
“Ah, another romantic,” Eirik murmured under his breath, casting a glance at Berwald’s stern face, somehow softened in these past weeks, wondering how it was so many people could seem so certain of the one thing that gave him so much pause.   
  
“We shall see,” Eirik said abruptly as Francis appeared from Jos’ office, shutting the door softly and leaning against the wall, looking more contemplative and distressed than he had since the first afternoon Eirik laid eyes on him in a cafe in Oslo, “Provided he has managed to survive the Franco-Dutch onslaught. Provided I manage to survive.”   
  
Berwald risked comfort one last time as Francis’ gaze lighted upon them, brushing his hand lightly over Eirik’s shoulder before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away, leaving Eirik standing alone in a room full of ransacked memories.   
  
He kicked at the Viking shield resting on top of a pair of ski pants, steeling his nerves as he heard Francis approach, preparing himself for any of the multitude of accusations or supplications he was certain he was to receive, feeling fleeting sympathy for Jens still trapped in the wolf’s lair, uncertain of which man he would rather face.   
  
And then Francis launched the most unexpected and startling salvo, settling gracefully in the doorway and telling him with all apparent sincerity, “I am sorry, my dear.”   
  
Eirik eyed him suspiciously, searching this man of a hundred faces for a hint as to what he hoped to gain by such a strange and unsettling offering, asking cautiously, “What for?”   
  
Francis seemed to be looking through him, staring over his head into the mirror on the wall, his voice distant and wistful as he murmured, “I’m afraid I’ve grossly miscalculated once again. I had not anticipated that such an outcome as this would be possible.”   
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eirik said, hiding his surprise that Francis would make even such a cryptic allusion to the hand he had no doubt played in the Denmark-Norway fiasco, feeling a frisson of vicious satisfaction that Jens’ bold decision would momentarily topple the Tulip overlords.   
  
Francis smiled at him wanly, “I am certain that you do. Which is why I feel I must apologize. I am forever underestimating the power of determination.”   
  
Eirik frowned, voice coolly impatient, “I fail to see how’s that relevant.”   
  
“And so did I for far too long,” Francis answered while Eirik stared at him with confused irritation, waiting for the man to either make sense of take his leave, uninterested in joining Francis strange, exhausting dance of mystery and manipulation when he was expending so much effort trying not to listen for Jens’ footsteps in the hallway.   
  
“I think everything will be quite different now, my darling,” Francis said absently, the odd strain of longing in his tone discomfiting enough that Eirik considered asking if he were alright, unable to wholly believe that Francis was so strangely undone by Jens’ impending departure.   
  
He opted to forgo such personal consideration, uninterested in being involved in any of the thousand plots and ploys that doubtless sprung up daily in the twisted, overgrown garden of Francis’ mind.   
  
“Indeed.”   
  
Abruptly, Francis shook his head and smiled at him once more, a shadowed imitation of his usual effervescence and self-assured smugness, offering him unnecessary reassurance, “Do not worry, Big Brother will continue to make good use of his favorite Nordic, even after his beloved has gone away.”   
  
Eirik wanted to strangle him with his own tie, retorted flatly, “Jens is not my beloved.”   
  
Francis looked at him dubiously, pursing his lips as he gently mocked, “Oh, you have such charming determination of your own, my dear. But, listen, Eirik...do not let go of the chance at possible happiness entirely, even if it seems the right path to take.”   
  
Perplexed, Eirik did not have time to tell Francis to keep his advice and meddlesome opinions well away from his current predicament before he sailed away on a cloud of absent amusement, and Jens came striding in looking no worse for the wear after one last skirmish with the Dutch.   
  
Eirik swallowed around his sudden nerves as Jens came to a skidding halt, eyes going wide with surprise and his lips turning up with such obvious pleasure that Eirik knew that no matter the outcome of his reckless decision to come here today, he would not regret it.   
  
“Damn, I did not see this coming,” Jens said breathlessly, crossing the littered floor to touch his hand to Eirik’s face, trying to draw him near.   
  
Eirik raised a bemused eyebrow before sliding away from the intimacy of touch, unwilling to trust his traitorous fingers to resist reaching out to return the small embrace.   
  
“Well, I guess that means you didn’t come to beg me not to go,” Jens murmured lowly.   
  
Softening at the disappointment, realizing how it must have looked to find him here waiting, Eirik shook his head, teasing gently,“You claim to know me better than that.”   
  
He ignored Jens’ answering sigh, moving to sit down on the edge of the couch, trying and failing to come up with a reasonable excuse for why he had come other than “I wanted to see you one more time.”   
  
“So you’ve survived,” Eirik redirected with a calmness that belied the strange racing of his heart, the sudden anxiety at knowing that these could be the last moments they stood together, the last words exchanged.   
  
Ever the overconfident fool, Jens laughed heartily and sprawled his long limbs over the remainder of the sofa, nudging Eirik’s leg with his knee, “Heh, were you worried?”   
  
Eirik frowned and rolled his eyes disdainfully, “Only a fool wouldn’t be when breaking a van Rijn contract.”   
  
“He didn’t give me much grief. When he wasn’t scowling and dismissing my reasons for leaving as nonsense, he honestly seemed way more interested in how badly Francis was taking the news.” Jens said with a shrug, “Then they made me sign a non-compete contract and forgo future royalties from all the Denmark-Norway videos.”   
  
“That’s unfortunate,” Eirik said with cool sympathy, doing a quick mental calculation as to the worth of those films, vaguely curious as to what Jens intended to do for money now that he had given away the proverbial farm to Jos and Francis.   
  
Jens smiled sweetly at him, spilling forth more inanity that made his ridiculous heart twist, “I know. Those always were my favorites.”   
  
“Idiot,” Eirik murmured, gazing down at his feet, the litany of questions he wasn’t sure he really wanted answers to rushing through his head as he continued, “I was referring to the money. Only someone as reckless as you would give that much away.”   
  
Jens winked at him, “You are worried about me.”   
  
Eirik shot him an unimpressed glare even as he allowed Jens to shift closer, pressing their legs together on the couch, warming him enough to give into the impulse to venture, “I imagine you are too stubborn to come to any great harm. But what do you plan to do now?”   
  
Jens smiled happily, lacing his hands behind his head, “A buddy of mine from home invited me to help him out on his yacht for the next couple of months. He runs pleasure trips for rich people in search of a little adventure. And who better than me to cater to the needs of a bunch of people with too much time and money on their hands?”   
  
Startled, Eirik could not keep the enthusiasm from his unmeasured response, “You sail?”   
  
Jens laughed, his eyes bright as their gaze met across the narrow gap of their shoulders, “You’re damned right I do. I love boats, I love the water. Berwald and I were rowing champs during our wild and crazy university days.”   
  
And Eirik could believe it, could imagine Jens even younger and more carefree than he was in this moment, bright and indefatigable on the water. And he could picture him now, serving some playboy and making them laugh, just so he could be out on the open seas, exploring new horizons and leaving no stone unturned.   
  
He could relate to that desire, to that endless passion for the ocean and the long blue horizon. And in that instant of imagination, of feeling that place where they both belonged, Eirik knew that he wanted to know more, that he was willing to chance letting Jens know him, bit by bit and piece by piece to see if they could find common ground to walk on.   
  
In the space that would be between them now, the distance of time and the sea, he would learn Jens and be learned in return. This was a risk he wanted to take.   
  
“I had no idea,” Eirik answered softly, “To think we actually have something in common.”   
  
In the silence that followed his words, Jens pressed a daring kiss to tip of his ear, whispering, “Porn and sailing, not a bad place to start.”   
  
Eirik closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow, allowing himself a moment to be held against Jens and feel the familiar lines of his body, before opening his eyes and turning his gaze to Jens’ face, murmuring, “Write to me while you are away.”   
  
The look of shock on Jens’ face would be enough to sustain him through the days of teasing and prying that followed that morning, as his mouth fell open and his eyes went comically wide.   
  
“Seriously?” Jens said dubiously, as though he expected Eirik to come to his senses and retract his words.   
  
Eirik smirked and purred, “You said you wanted to know me, did you not?”   
  
Jens slowly started to recover his good humor and Eirik took pleasure in watching the slow creep of pleasure and hope into his smile as he nodded and agreed cheerily, “I did. And I do.”   
  
“Well, then,” Eirik said coolly but surely, “Write to me. Email me. And I will respond. Provided you have something of interest to say.”   
  
Jens touched their foreheads together, smiling far too softly and affectionately for a man who had only been handed the barest of promises, voice low and rich as he said, “We’re doing it all backwards, you know.”   
  
“What?” Eirik asked, somehow finding his own voice had taken on an equally intimate tone, feeling at ease for the first time in weeks, as though he had found a way to bridge past, present, and future.   
  
“I’ve had you six ways to Sunday more times than I count. And now we’re going to write letters.”   
  
Eirik smirked, “Is that a problem?”   
  
Jens shook his head, his hair tangling with Eirik’s, “Hell no. I think it’s damned adorable. Who knew you were such a romantic.”   
  
“Idiot,” Eirik breathed out, cheeks flushing and tongue tingling with the urge to deny it all, suddenly at a loss when Jens shifted away from him and stood from the couch, expression tinged with determination and quiet happiness.   
  
And Eirik knew this was it, that Jens was about to embark on whatever madness sustained a personality as unrestrained as his, and he felt the small tenuous bond between them would hold true, that they would move through the world apart, and yet not totally divided.   
  
Jens smiled down at him, familiar and fond, eyes dangerous and mouth rich with promises.   
  
“Besides, maybe one day you’ll sign one with  _love_ .”


End file.
